[Intro]
This motherfucker, man
Just won't shut up, will you?
Talkin' 'bout I owe him
Bitch, you owe me
I'm promotin' you right now
Yo, let's put the nail in this coffin
[Chorus]
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say
”Nobody wants to hear their grandfather rap“ (Nope)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
[Verse]
I would never claim to be no
Ray Benzino
An eighty-three-year-old fake Pacino
So how can he hold me over some balcony without throwin' his lower back out as soon as he goes to lift me? (Ugh)
Please, don't, you'll probably fall with me and our asses'll both be history (Aah)
But, then again, you'd finally get your wish
‘Cause you'd be all over the street like 50 Cent (Ha-ha-ha-ha)
You're fuckin' punk, pussy, fuck you, chump
Give me a one-on-one, see, if I don't fuck you up,
Tryna jump the Ruff Ryders and they cut you up
And you put Jada on a track, that's how much you suck
Dick in the industry, swear that you in the streets hustlin'
You sit behind a fuckin' desk at The Source, butt-kissin'
And beggin' motherfuckers for guest appearances
And you can't even get the clearances
'Cause real lyricists don't even respect you or take you serious
It's not that we don't like you, we hate you, period
Talk about a mid-life crisis, damn
Last week you was shakin' Obie Trice's hand
Now he's a buster? What the fuck's with that?
Get on a track, dissin' us, kissin' 50's ass
And askin' me what I know about indictments, bite me
Bitch, I got two cases and probation, fight me
What do I know about standin' in front of a judge like a man
Ready to take whatever sentence he hands?
What you know about your wife slicin' her wrists, right in
Front of the only thing that you have in this world, a little girl?
And I put that on her, when this is all over
I would never try to make her a star and eat off her
I don't know shit about no choppin' rocks
But what you know about Hip Hop Shops rockin' spots
Where you're the only white boy up in that bitch, just rippin'?
Pressin' up your own fliers and your stickers, stickin'
Them bitches up after spendin' six hours at Kinko's
Makin' copies of your covers of cassette singles
To sell them out of the trunk of your Tracer
Spendin' your whole paychecks at Disc Makers
What you know about bein' bullied over half your life?
Oh, that's right, you should know what that's like—you're half white (Ha-ha)
Vanilla Ice, spill the beans and rice
I'm eatin' you alive inside, Jesus Christ
If you're that much of a gangsta, put the mic down
You should be out killin' motherfuckers right now
Kill a motherfucker dead, kill him dead, bitch
Shoot 'em in the fuckin' head, go ahead, bitch
Slap my mom, slap the fuck out of her
She can't sue you, she wouldn't get a buck out of ya
‘Cause you're broke as fuck, you suck, you're a fuckin' joke
If you was really sellin' coke, well, then what the fuck
You stop for, dummy? If you slew some crack
You'd make a lot more money than you do from rap (Ha-ha)
You'll never have no security, you'll never be famous
You'll never know what it's like to be rich, life's a bitch, ain't it? Raymond?
Here, let me break this shit down in layman's terms for you
Just to make sure that you can understand us
And Canibus ain't usin' too many complicated fuckin' words for you
Here, and let me slow it down for you
So that you can understand if I say it slower
Let it go, dog, it's over
[Chorus]
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say
”Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap“ (Uh-uh)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
[Outro]
Ha-ha, talkin' 'bout, I have motherfuckers callin' your crib
Bitch, you ain't even got a fuckin' crib
You ain't even got a fuckin' phone fuckin' bum
Threatenin' to shut me down at your li-l' fuckin' Source magazine if I come back on you and attack you
Bitch, you attacked me first, take it like a man, and shut the fuck up
And fuck your little magazine too
I don't need your little fuckin' magazine
I got XXL's number anyways
And y'all can't stand it ‘cause they gettin' bigger than y'all
Oh, and, by the way, how'd I look on the VMAs?
When you was watchin' me from
Whatever fuckin' TV he was watchin' me from
In Boston, the mean streets of Boston
Fuckin' sissy
Think you got us scared up in here, motherfucker?
Suck our motherfuckin' dicks
Oh
And for those that don't know
Don't get it twisted y'all
The Source has a white owner
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