Hidden Track

[Verse]:
I won't beg to get my CD played, everybody be afraid
What I write will piss more people off than the meter maid
Somewhat a tyrant I deserve to be feared
Like a United pilot with a turban and a beard
I'm peer pressure, put discouraging words in your ear
Lose track of how many guest spots I murder in a year
And it's nothing to joke about when I step in the building
My facial expression is like you would step on my children
Cookie cutter motherfuckers, take a stab at me
I done had a tougher time trying to battle my bad acne
I'm comin with skills you fuckin' with me, I spit bombs
You run of the mill like W.S. sitcoms
You ain't what you used to be
Every song you slip another notch and decline like you Easy Mo Bee's producer fee
My creative juices be enough to fill a river up
A sea up, so re-up with a full clip, nigga what?!

Supastition in the house like that. Uh
Marco Polo in the house like that y'all

Doin' it, doin' it, that's right