Call the Discovery Channel, 'cause I'm the East Coast choppa/ I'll have ya in pieces and stack you next to Jimmy Hoffa/ Your rhymin' is Playskool, while I work with pro tools/ I keep my threads new, you look like your momma still dress you

the only undertaker ya know is a wrestler, ya both fake / got nothing at stake, pockets empty of that paper /nothin comes out ya wallet but vapor, can't even afford shake n' bake / dumpster diving for a scrap, ya never even on the map

You shoot blanks, and I shoot from the hip/ I let my gat talk until I empty the clip/ Too much slip from your lip, had to put an end to ya/ made you pay the last tab, now only the undertaker can tend to ya/

i don't start beef, i end it / leave your face split, look like a pussy but no queef / just blood and brains, leave you girl with heavy emotional pains / i shoot like eastwood, take away your girls livelihood.

You startin' beef, and I do but keep the piece/gat in my back pocket, clip rolls 10 shots deep/you pack Super Soakers, my heat's heavy like a sumo/ better leave the hood and run back to the whitest kids u know.

no expiration date, i'm immortal; give ya cement jordans, leave ya breathin with a snorkel / gonna catch you like lieutenant gordon, guide you to tha pearly gate / don't be late; ya gotta get to tha bitch ass awards / i eviscerate ya with liquid swords, entertain ya fan cause ya leave 'em bored

My rhymes is great, you need to check your expiration date/ take me a week to post because your fruity content is hella late/ I'm the future, it's only natural for you to bite me/ you need a suture for the wounds I'm inflicting on your psyche