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(feat. Brother Marquis, Tony Rock) [Verse 1: JT Money] Roll out the red carpet, let the bugles blow The pimp deserves a grand intro, y'don't know? I know you're sick of bubble gum w/rappers puttin' you to bed But not JT Money, I'm somethin' like a SudaFed I give relief that's far from lousy And get the job done without gettin' you drowsy Since I'm from the bottom, the other rappers tried dissin' But in the end, my ass they'll be kissin' I must state how stupid remarks Can cause enough friction to give off sparks Makin' people think that a giant king Couldn't come from the bottom 'cause of second string But I'ma make history as I get hype Drop a science that'll damage that stereotype Ask for drama, 'cause I'ma, bout to set off A Poisonous freestyle, instead of The average, ordinary everyday thing I'm outstandin', leavin' rappers out standin' in the rain Poison like venom, gettin' in 'em, then I conquer When I'm finished rockin' you're jockin' for an encore My masterpieces will smash to pieces Or should I say demo, the mass that reaches You better take a bufferin' with sufferin' from SongtexteThe wrath of the style that can't be outdone It's like that y'all, 'cause I'm the ultimate Yo, Tony Rock, take the stand 'cause I'm about to sit! [Verse 2: Tony Rock] MC's up north, and niggas like Spike take shorts Thinkin' that the only rappers live in New York Dick-heads like you, they don't know the deal Sayin' if it's not from up there, it can't be real But since you're ignorant and stupid at best, I'll have to break this down from the simplest See Tony Rock make a microphone check Now see him on stage breakin' a sucka nigga's neck Y'all takin' rap back? Get off of that cake! The only thing you might be able to take is this dick Sayin' weak-ass rhymes on records and video Grabbin' on the dick and start cursin', and even though You front to be hard while the cameras start shootin' Knowin' goody-damn well that you as soft as a fig newton If we was cars, I'd be a Porsche and you, a Nova On card games, you're Pitty-pat and I'm Poker I grab the microphone 'cause I can't wait to smoke a, Sucka like you, you no-rhymin' joker Steppin' on stage, and goin' into fits Workin' up a sweat, but you ain't rockin' shit Sayin' weak-ass rhymes, tryin' your best to work the fans up Why don't you drop the microphone and come out with your hands up? Just because you're from up there, you ain't got it like that Boy, you could be killed, and you don't want that I'm sayin' rhymes on a funky-ass cut Marquis, go for yours, because I got MY nut! [Verse 3: Brother Marquis] I treat rappers like hoes, roll 'em like vogues Count 'em and fold 'em and stuff and stack 'em like bank-rolls I'm never on the runnin', MC's confronted Always in my face, wantin' to start somethin' I can't keep silent 'cause I'm lyrically violent Step to me, boy, step off, don't even try it I giddy up and go, so smooth when I flow I make suckas get goin' like a 5.0 Ya see, I'll massacre, sit back and laught at ya, And when you're finished, then I'll embarrass ya I'm the aggressor, the professor (I injure/I'll end ya) like a ninja with a lyrical lecture Marquis gets silky as I recite 'em Rappers are germs, I'm peroxide to fight 'em I blitz, throwin' hits that'll put you in a coffin Treat you like an orphan, causing you to soften People say I'm immaculent, but I'm past that Others get laughed at, 'cause they ain't half that They try to achieve, but can't succeed They only get stomped on when I stampede It's like that, punks, and you all know Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, continue to flow! [Verse 4: Debonaire] Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, is last on the agenda Talkin' 'bout how brothers constantly pretend to Be from up North, New York, yeah, Medina The grass ain't greener! I guess they never seen a Rapper from another region gettin' the loot I'm from the bottom, and got girls feedin' me fruit And droppin' flowers every time I walk Is my music identical to that of New York? It's original, comin' from the bottom, analyze it You could come off on your own, but no one tries it They'd rather have some sloppy jalopy And get called a wanna-be because they try to copy But see, the boys, we just laugh Ain't a counterfeit rapper on the Skyywalker staff! And so the wanna-be's bite the dust They ain't certified to rap beside none of us! And 'cause I'm strictly B-U-S-I-N-E-double S They panickin', stiff like manequins from all the stress No one there to mend; they look soft Anyway, I'm outta here, signin' the fuck off! Aus Songtexte Mania