There is no one above me, no one behind me
Nobody around here that could outmatch or -rhyme me
I’m still grimy, the rhymes still fiery
I’m on my grind this environment is mine g
The antibiotic flow, dry, ironical
The Chronicle, gon´ beat you with the conical
What did you say? It’s comical
You evaporate to fume ´cuz my shit is hot – lava flow
What’s your problem my man I just came back
You adlibbing try to spit the same track…ASAP
Not with this shit here this is the payback
DJs say it’s too hard but have to play that
Not whack like you with all your gay acts
No airplay still present with no pay checks
Hot rhymes that make you step your game back
Take a pen try’na write hot shit while I’m laid back
A role model for writing is what you see in me
No big deal for me, that’s why I rhyme easily,
I just don’t understand where faggots are coming from
Mass-mirror the website my lyrics are published on
So we could finally see who got the better rhymes
I could go for hours and nobody would have recognized
You better hide, ´cause it’s preferable to homicide
Mothers cried, ´cause their kids tried to fuck with mines
Unqualified…fucks…get back
Let me step to the mic…and catch wreck
At best, you catch that, but no respect
And fags who got cash coming out there ass crack
Get mad wet, when I roll up on the set
In a Twin turbo Vette with the twin turbo Tec
The metal body-builder, they call it the Ferrari killer
Bigger intercooler in case the AC doesn’t chill us
And I roll with better bitches
They don’t get into ridiculous looking Cadillac’s on 26’s
Back on topic, nobody could have stopped it
I fly to the sky like a 3 stage rocket
I breathe life into zeros and ones
In form of a wav file using all zeros at once
All you talk about is more money and bigger cars
You’re the next one that I challenge to write 50 bars
And the other half that always talks about rapping,
And Hip-Hop’s return and that they gon make it happen
Guess what…I wanna see a hundred bars by you
Cause if you as tight as you say it shouldn’t be hard for you
You wanna see what I got, you’re getting it
I’m spittin it automatic like cybots
You’re in your room with pen and paper on the table
Microphone speakers and a USB Cable
Everything tied up and you think that you able
To write tight shit and then send it to the labels
Bitch please let me tell you…call me the teacher
In the Biz Tom Jeefs is a fable creature
They want features, shout outs and reach out
Ok, don’t worry, I’ma stop to preach now…
The last thing I wanna say is that it’s a made biz
Never go against Tom Jeefs ‘cause then you’re safe, kid.