|
Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
[Intro:] Ha, 2010, Chris Webby DJ Whoo Kidd Yo, it's that real sh*t Uh, Uh [Verse:] You couldn't touch 'em with a ten-foot pole. Nobody near to this, I'm serious, ripping the mic 'til I'm delirious And I don't do it for the glamour and the glitz I do it because I love it and I'm handling my sh*t But there's some dudes doing it for all the wrong reasons Spit nonsense, think there the hottest thing breathing Ignoring all the real MC's who don't even Have enough pocket change to break even I'm steaming, tearing it down 'til I'm leaving Music running in my veins, even in my semen Webby straight hungry, somebody should feed him Before I go nuts, cause a motherf*ckin' scene and End up locked up again and f*ckin' spend My last penny on bail so f*ck it then Lyrically, your everyday rapper can't touch me But rap's full of dudes with no talent it disgust me Trust me, I can drop names, make it get ugly But that's just how it is, some people get lucky Soulja Boy's fifth grade vocab Gets played on the radio so much you think it's as dope as Jigga, Nas, Eminem, Busta, Fab Jadakiss, Ludacris, maybe Lupe Fias- Co, rap mode, clever and intelligent The hottest in New England and ain't nobody forgetting it I'm showing y'all that hip hop exists in Connecticut I'm picture perfect I just need somebody to develop it Right now I can't even afford a gym membership Even though I rap with undeniable eloquence I stay true to my roots and I know where I'm from I don't front on no one, don't talk about having funds Don't talk about slinging crack, don't talk about shooting guns Don't talk about being hard, I talk about having fun I'm second to none, something the world has never seen Making music's in my genes, like a pocket it seems Rocking the screen of any f*cking camera that's in front of me So deep underground that my tunnel be Down with the dinosaur bones, grimy I need a paleontologist just to find me So complex every listener rewinds me But it's my extensive vocab that defines me I be pumping hip hop through an IV Nobody else unsigned can out-grind me No Ash Roth clone drop rhymes off dome Just a rapscallion rocking the skull and crossbones I'm a young cat coming out 21 Won't stop 'til I decide that I am f*cking done And that'll be never The future of hip hop, b*tch, it's Chris Webster [Outro:] Well, it is b*tch What it is b*tch It's real hip hop Get your bars up, b*tches And we out J-Cash, what up Timmy, what up Yeah, yeah |