Hand me an eighth, beam me up and land me in space
I'ma sit on top of the world and spit on Brandy & Ma$e
I'm more than ill
Scarier than a white person trapped in a room with Lauryn Hill
Human horror film, but with a lot funnier plot
And people will fill me 'cause I'ma still be the mad rapper
Whether I got money or not
As long as I'm on pills and I got plenty of pot
Ill be in a canoe paddling, making fun of your yacht
But I would like an award
For the best rapper to get 1 mic in The Source
And a wardrobe I can afford
Otherwise I might just end up back striking at Ford
And you wonder what the hell I need more Vicodin for?
Everybody's pissing me off
Even the No Limit tank looks like a middle finger sideways
Flipping me off
No wonder I'm a grave danger to my health
Why else would I kill you and jump in the grave and bury myself?
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