All i hear is gun shots. can i touch something?
what the blood claat! niggaz want tical, make it happen.
you know my fuckin' style, fuck the rappin',
we can take it back to eighty-five if you wanna start actin' like you live
it's all good. i'm rollin' with my clique,
owls, packwoods & phillies, smokin' sess blunts, mixed with illy
got me bustin', now the whole world looks dusted,
i'm in the area with the skill that never rusted.
for real, nigga, touch it & you burn, when will motherfuckers learn
what be spreadin' like a germ? ha ha, it's meth, word.
i be that early bird that got the worm & if you check it
i'm on point, like a fax machine you get the message.
it be no question & them bust the second guessin's,
keep your thoughts on your lessons. what the blood claat!
to tell the truth, you don't amaze me. killa hill project,
a star trek phaser couldn't phase me. what,
check the raderuckus fuck this,
smoke a dutchmaster, have 'em screamin' for the duchess
yeah, i gotta have it, so i strive to stick my piece
if i don't do it for mydelf, i'm a do it for kase,
'cause that's my peoples, i'm giving you injections that be lethal
weapon, when niggaz start the half steppin',
then i get evil. but don't let that negative vibe right there
mislead you, i'm humble, a fucking killer bee,
far from bumble. i sting you bzt and i bring you
thirty-six chambers of head banger, bitch,
why i deal with? i think the mic is on the fritz.
faggot soundmen! they be sabotagin' shit!
look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane...
methical, let the whole world know my fuckin' name.
what the blood claat!