[Verse One] Chops burn the house down, we build it from the ground under Run through your town, catch pounds and bounce like flubber Hotter than a Stevie Wonder summer Makin tracks to Spank that ass like thank you, can I please have another A number of hip hop lovers listen to my disc and discover The shit I write tight like hip huggers Mines the type of rhymes to make your eyes bug out like Chris Tucker Face turn the color purple like your name was Danny Glover Makin amateurs shudder one by one, take a number Call me Land O' Lakes cause I'm the man that makes the butter Ill repute makin chumps suffocate, months to recover Full throttle, lay tracks and burn rubber Your fool's gold is gone and lost its luster (ha) So now you wanna give me love, I got a special place for your lips to pucker My brainstorms thunder, sucker run for cover Mountain Brother with the wallet that says "Bad motherfucker"
[Chorus: x2] Everybody got a mic, everybody got two tables Everybody got a deal, cause everybody got their own label But ain't nobody bringin it like this, so yo All y'all motherfuckers can open wide
[Verse Two] Y'all need to exchange your mics for somethin else See this ain't purple rain but nobody digs your music but yourself It ain't nothin to me, I judge an emcee by hearin if what they say is raw Not the guest appearances your label pays for They put it out expecting miracles, but ain't nobody hearin you And them cats sold you leftover material Y'all toys ain't even Tickle Me Elmo, y'all Teddy Ruxpin Last time I made some shit like that, disposed of it by flushin Guess what ?fan, your style is need of a suntan You only rapping cause you got rejected from a punk band Magnificent butcher, the one man Butch and Sundance You know who it is, see, my crew ain't new to this I say screw the music biz, cause most of my favorite groups They either sold the fuck out or their label gave em the boot Took your soul to the pawn shop, trade it to make a name for your troops Hopin to make some loot, but only made your soup cause
[Verse Three] Now see, playa please, talk like you makin cheese, you ain't Wisconsin I read your contract, you gettin jerked liked Navin Johnson You rhyme about your clothes and jewelry, soundin like you suck meat And past that, your raps is half assed like one buttcheek Urinate in the talent pool, shallow plus a fool From your rhymes, you can tell you took the little bus to school Your weak thoughts sound like you allow money to dictate em And plus, your beats sound like a kid made em when they was just playin Made the mistake of not makin chops your producer Try to play the big dog, now you're sayin, drop the chalupa So while you're washed up like a loofah with no future We singin We are the champions, no time for losers And y'all so called independent ?staples think y'all a label Makin CDs that ain't good enough for holdin drinks on coffee tables Listen to the shit you're kickin, what was that, an exhibition? You're not underground, you're just wack, know the difference