Letters

[Intro]
"What are you going to do?" (x2)
"Nigga!"
"The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters"
"My mic sound nice, check one"
"The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters"
"Sound nice" (cut and scratched)

[Verse 1]
Rougher than Gotti, in tone
Got a body harder than Flintstone
Your girl got her skins boned
I'm diggin' her down with my skin-tone
It's Brown-er than Bobby 'cause humpin' is my hobby
Down in the endzone, with mens makin' her friends moan
Listen and learn and turn on your tuners
If you looneys try to commence, I break
Bang zoom, like Honeymooners
I don't want singers, but finger snappers
The speaker slapper, the weaker the rapper;
The dapper rapper's when I flap my trapper
Got that ass gassed by Amoco, you know you ain't man to go
Dead up, head up, so I set up to slam a ho
I don't give a heck, but I don't peck on a redneck
You wanna pull cards? You're a dead deck, bed check
Lead from my TEC, come and step up and get your head wrecked
Wait a sec, you comin to see what's left?
I gotta catch my breath
Rappers slayed; like played like Jeff to the left
And none of you nitwits can get with this hip shit
You dipsticks, even miss kiss with no lipstick
I don't run a style, but a mile, gut-bust a child
Big ol' snappy happy rappers smile like Gomer Pyle
Hell, I'm ringin' bells with a ding-dong
I'll play you like ping pong
You're swingin' on my ding-a-ling, King Kong
I pop bad cops, I got a pig-a-day habit
Bing, bing, BING! Just like the Ricochet Rabbit
Grab it, your sound is just like a lady, baby
Maybe you're old as Grady, still in the 80's
Metaphors poorer than Haiti
I pop to the top, now the hip-hop Glock pop rocks
Whenever it drops, I run over rappers at the record shop
You name your best, I'll say "Who?" like owls
Pass me a towel, and I'mma move my bowels all over his vowels
Bring ten men, then I'll send my venom in 'em
You ain't gonna win 'em, 'cause he got a woman's momentum
And I don't wanna hear from a square
'Cause one of these niggas just doesn't belong here
My rhymes are like a 9mm Beretta
'Cause anythin' rappers could do, yo, I could do it better

[Hook]
"The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters"
"My mic sound nice, check two"
"The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters"
"Sound nice" (cut and scratched)

[Verse 2]
You no-frills slow toy, cheap thrills, no joy
My lyrical skills give me Pillsbury Doughboy
Back, I'm packin' 'em up like Jack the Ripper
Some pally'll pull on the zipper
Finger popped, the better the batter or flipper
You're out of date, you must be the Late Show, I hate, though
Push on the brakes slow, uh-oh! Better get Maaco
Dead on head-on collision, bad decision
You wanna see me, nigga? You better check your vision
It ain't 20/20, money, silly bunny, you're funny
Your ass'll get smashed just like a crash test dummy
Retire, an MC that Oscar Mayer could take
Some of you wacky rappers just play anyway
That's B-O-L-O-G-N-A
So come and swing wild, mild child, and get your style hurt
HEY, HEY, HEY! Shit I say is Fatter than Albert
Play at your own risk if you diss
Got a lotta hot groups turnin' cold
Better go and sip on some Swiss Miss
Inner city, actin' like bitties, you're pussy
So here, kitty kitty, come get some milk from my ho's titties
Cross at the green, not in between, or get hit, G
Red light, green light, one, two, three
Out for the dash, but in a flash, you shoulda let me pass
But crashed, now that ass is in a body-cast
Every time I put out my records and tapes
Motherfuckers go bananas like this was Planet of the Apes
Grapes, I bust 'em like cherries and lay down
Bitches purchase tickets to ride the dick
And sit down on it like a Greyhound
Down with the clowns actin' like killers
As good as wooden soldiers
See, niggas, you ain't even Magilla Gorillas
Bass in your face, stingin' like mace
I'm bringin' the right taste, hangin' like waist
Pick up the pace