There’s a whole lot of questions that really need answers
Like: Who the fuck told you that your rhyme style was hot?
You know when Biggie died? Who bust that shot?
Why is Sammy Bull still living, and where the fuck is Pac?
Who do I blame if I’m not a success?
Do I blame it on my pops that left
When I was feedin on my mama’s breast?
Or do I blame it on society?
With all this black/white stuff…man this shit is real tough.
We went from African kings to Martin Luther King,
Now they wanna make us all Rodney King.
So they conspire to murder for hire;
Is the world just a big cup of water trying to douse the black fire?
Tell ya mama to stop flirtin’ boy, I’m not a good step-pop.
I interrupt your little session…and wreck shop.
I call wild niggas together like Cyrus,
And knock off more birds than the West Nile Virus.