[Sha Stimuli]
I wonder if Cassius Clay would have found out about his fate
As a youngin, before he changed up his name and absorbed the hate
Would he still have jumped in the ring and took jabs and hooks to the face
And become the greatest of greats if he knew he would have the shakes
When it’s over?
It’s never over for me, but I can relate
‘Cause my body would start to tremble whenever I walked away
I’d be sweating like I’m on heroine, meth and MDMA
Since y’all said that y’all like me bragging, I’m back and I’m here to stay
Hi
The human avatar for rapping hard, I battled God and came out with battle scars
I feel like I build with angels and travel far, for every gram of raw and a phantom car
That you hear about from dudes that they tag as stars
You might as well believe in Big Foot…the tooth fairy, leprechauns, Santa Claus
They’re spitting candy bars
Kit Kat, Almond Joy, Butterfinger, Milky Way
Snickers, Twix, Baby Ruth, Hundred Grand, Pay Day
Hersheys, Reese’s, Three Musketeers
They’re Twizzlers, that the listeners do not wanna hear
Clear
I’m a mutant, at nine I showered with rhyming power
Now with any beat I get, I devour
Put me in a room full of haters
Have ninety-thousand Simon Cowells
Their reactions, just be a line of vowels
Ooohs and aaaahs
Maybe a hell yes
Say more, sell less
Sick flow, well-dressed
Save rap, help desk
Hire me, wire me money little rapper, I can fix up your words like spellcheck
When I said well dressed…
I wasn’t talking Tyler Perry, Martin Lawrence, Eddie Murphy
Men in dresses, kinda scary
Oh my bad, they’re rocking kilts, wearing skirts
Oh I’m clearly
Just a hater, never mind, just pretend y’all didn’t hear me
Look!
Over there a distraction
Ok now back to me
I’m Shallow Hal in the flesh, although I be rappin’ deep
They found the way to battle me
Fake your own death like you’re rehearsing for a sick patient role on Grey’s Anatomy
I know I come across in manners
That’s cerebral, far from evil, sorta feeble, understanding
So these “ignant” people hear me, I start talking bout my hammer
Now my Friends are acting funny like they’re Joey, Ross and Chandler but…
I stress nothing, I sit calm
The game’s funny like old sitcoms
These rappers look like Fresh Prince, Full House, Family Matters, Growing Pains
Who’s the Boss?, Diff’rent Strokes, Good Times, Happy Days
Girlfriends, The Jeffersons, Seinfeld, Cosby
Saved by the Bell, Bernie Mac, Steve Harvey
My Wife and Kids
The life I live, is semi-sorta Godly
Some of y’all hardly working, me I’m working hardly
I’m partly Barkley, Garvey, Marley
Sorry
For crashing this non-lyricist party
My mental, it’s sharp as a Ginsu, but harsh and offensive
I spark instrumentals, it’s hard but essential, my target is simple
With all that I been through, my heart isn’t gentle, I harnessed potential
And studied flows, even borrowed like rentals
From different emcees, yes each bar is eventful
I mixed CNN, Vh1 with Comedy Central
Then added BET, A&E, Showtime, Lifetime
Playboy, Fox and I channel Pac when I write rhymes
My patterns are real tricky
They’re simple, but complex
Who could flip any concept?
Whether sky lounge, party jet, rooftop pub, it don’t matter how high the bar’s set
Y’all don’t hear me
It’s a different day now
Game-change music, let me just explain how
I elevate the level, and I educate whoever, since the kids are out here spelling like the Chick-fil-a cows
Rap ain’t helping, I just add to the drama
Your daddy left and now you’re mad at your mama
I’m glad and I’m honored, to tell you you can make it, as a graduate scholar
You can take the path of Obama, or Mario Chalmers
I have to be honest
With all of these scriptures that I just rapped to you
Half of you may not get it, or have the aptitude
Other half are stuck with that hater, debater attitude
And I could be the greatest, I’m nothing to Maya Angelou
And everything she brought to the world
I rock wife-beaters but I never tortured my girl
I get sicker with every minute, doesn’t force me to hurl
But it could fetal position you, you ball up and curl
A lot of dudes want to act like Deebo…Tyson
Real life similar to Peabo…Bryson
I touch down like an eagle…viking
Steeler…titan, see my writing
At times it sounds extra pissed, ’cause you don’t know me
On beats I’m affectionate, the drums hold me
And the hi-hats whisper, and I kick it with the kicks
Have discussions with percussion
Treat the music like a chick, I tell ‘em…
I feel better than massage parlors
Once I start giving orders like The Godfather
And I make her breathe like I’m her Lamaze partner
Even though I’m never home like your car charger
My flow is beautiful…
I put letters together to get numbers
You know, a Roman numeral…
Every beat you can throw a funeral
Love me or hate me, the feeling’s mutual
I show loyalty
If I worked at Burger King or Dairy Queen, I am still royalty
So how I’m still here is beyond me
Father, Son, Spirit, I’m embodying all three
So really
Messing with me, you must be on E
It’s like playing a game of horse, and you on E it’s over
