Nothing’s been the same since they dropped ‘Control’
And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes.
Ha-ha! Joke’s on you, high-five, I’m bulletproof,
Your shit’ll never penetrate.
Pin the tail on the donkey, boy you been a fake.
Why do I need ID to get ID?
If I had ID, I wouldn’t need ID.
Rhymes so def, rhymes rhymes galore,
Rhymes that you’ve never even heard before.
Now if you say you heard my rhyme, we gonna have to fight,
‘Cause I just made the muthafuckas up last night!
If you go platinum, it’s got nothing to do with luck,
It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck.
I’m a street genius with a unique penis,
Got fly chicks on my dick that don’t even speak English.
All I see is sissies in magazines smiling…
Whatever happened to wildin’ out and being violent?
Whatever happened to catching a good, old-fashioned, passionate ass whoopin’?
And getting your shoes, coat and your hat tooken?
My new shorty got a gymnastic back,
‘87 emerald green on a classic Jag.
She had the cleft palate, I ordered chef’s salad;
She had the club foot, with that little arm,
I couldn’t help but laugh…she ordered Chicken Parm.
They say that love is powerful as cough syrup and Styrofoam.
All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in that Monte Carlo
With the ugly Kardashian…
Lamar, oh, sorry. Yo, we done both set the bar low.
What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high,
Who tryna jump and get it? You better off tryna skydive
Out the exit window of 5 G5’s with 5 grand
With your granddad as the pilot he drunk as fuck tryna land
With the hand full of arthritis and popping prosthetic leg
Bumpin Pac in the cockpit so the shit that pops in his head
Is an option of violence, someone heard the stewardess said
That your parachute is a latex condom hooked to a thread.
I’ve seen niggas transform like villain Decepticons,
Mollies’ll prolly turn these niggas to fuckin’ Lindsay Lohan.
A bunch of rich ass white girls lookin’ for parties,
Playin with Barbies, wreck the Porsche before you give ‘em the car key.
It seem like everybody dress tight now,
And I just want my credit.
You can’t take the heat, get ya ass out the kitchen
Matter fact, take ya ass back in there and wash the dishes.
I don’t mind you talkin shit, just keep it in the first person.
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out,
Phony, like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out.
Her dreams hold Versace,
She fall for Armani…
Only deal with rich niggas,
Fuck you and Mitt Romney.
Lyrically, I’m supposed to represent;
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president.
Feds still lurking,
They see I’m still putting work in.
Cause somewhere in America…
Miley Cyrus is still twerkin’.
I drop styles on ears…the public bite ‘em.
Not many went to school, so the dummies wouldn’t write ’em.
They say, “Yo Keith! You’re Kool, you usin’ big words!”
I went to college, I’m even more stupid, herb.
Ooh! Jesus Christ had dreads, so shake ‘em.
I ain’t got none, but I’m planning on growing some.
Imagine all the Hebrews going dumb…
Dancing on top of chariots and turning tight ones.
They claim we’re products from the bottom of Hell,
But the black is back, and it’s bound to sell.
Picture us coolin’ out on the Fourth of July…
And if you heard we were celebratin’, that’s a worldwide lie.
My heart is ‘We Are the World,’ my penis is P.E.
But my balls are Avatar, you could see ’em in 3D.
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
All right, stop whatcha doin, cause I’m about to ruin
The image and the style that you’re used to.
I’m stuck in a time capsule when rappers’ actually factual;
Meaning: shit you spit might cause killers to come and clap at you.
Food for thought, eat my words with your mind:
Emcees are grapes, and grapes are crushed to wine.
I can drink a whole Hennessy fifth.
Some call that a problem, but I call it a gift.
I chop ‘em into salad and my name ain’t Caesar.
Step to this and get shanked up,
I knocked out so many teeth, the tooth fairy went bankrupt.
‘You claim to be the man, you want me for a lover,
So you can do my girlfriends and my sister and my mother?’I said, ‘You’re very blunt,’ with quickness to the cue,
‘So whassup with your mother, does she look as good as you?’
My mama didn’t see it comin, my daddy was there.
What’s my excuse? Cartoons were the root.
Started with Yosemite Sam
With the gun in the palm of the hand,
What couldn’t I demand?
I don’t know what’s better: getting laid or getting paid.
I just know when I’m getting one, the other’s getting away.
You stackin cheddar cause you working at the burger place.
You can tell by the rhyme it’s my time to shine;
Let’s eat, motherfucker, I don’t dine on swine.
I don’t beef with turkeys, I told you the God’ll fold you,
Hard to digest: I suggest that you take tofu.
Couldn’t you see me and you stretched out in a bikini on the beach in Tahiti?
See, me, I’m very selective even though I could be greedy;
My main objective is to write our names together in graffiti.
I’m givin’ more flat lines to niggas than loose-leaf.
I don’t get pat down, you know what’s on the waist,
I don’t mean Jazz when I say I “count base.”
Fly Louis sneakers, Purple Tape coming out the speakers,
Bumped into my high school teachers,
They said I wouldn’t be nothing, sitting on the bleachers.
Now I’m sitting in the Phantom, trynna figure out the features.
I’m a big fish now, I watch for the leeches.
You got game like me? I doubt it.
They say pimping ain’t easy…what’s so hard about it?
Even when I say nothing, it’s a beautiful use of negative space.
My limo driver’s white, my attorney black…
‘Show me some love’ like I’m Bernie Mac.
Picture yourself crushin’ Xzibit with your tough talk?
That’s like Christopher Reeve doing the crip walk.
Put your hands where I can see ‘em, so they look like 12 PM
On the dot, see this Glock? Don’t make me give these shells freedom.
You know that one auntie, you don’t wanna be rude,
…But every holiday, nobody eatin’ her food.
Age ain’t nothing but a number, that’s what Chi-Ali said.
OK, then why don’t you get that through the judge’s head?
You can do all them push-ups to pump up your chest,
I got a 12 gauge Mossberg to pump up your chest,
Have you gasping for air after that shell hit your vest.
Fear me like you fear God, ‘cause I bring death.
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
People say, ‘Grimm, you’ve been shot like 50.
So why don’t you just rhyme like 50?
Then, you could get the money like 50,
Otherwise, before you see success…you’ll be 50.’
Footballs, basketballs, microphones, gas and grass…
Just some of the few things that J-Ro likes to pass.
The God’s tropical…ladies call me ‘Black Fruit Punch.’
I bumped into Loon, he like ‘Well, As Salaam-Alaikum.’
You know I ain’t Muslim, my nigga, I’m about my bacon!
I scored 1.1 on my SAT,
And still push a whip with a right and left AC.
You’re a trivial part in a trivia game.
Now what’s your aim? A presidential campaign?
Like Ross Perot? He lost it though…
But he got a billion in tha bank fo’ sho’!
Now what Clan you know with lines this ill?
Bust shots at Big Ben, like we got time to kill.
You’s a nigga everybody diss, cause you can’t bust this,
You got a bad name like Dick Butkus.
Putting styles on lock, and making beats by the bundle,
Scooping more props than Bryant Gumbel…and staying humble.
You’re mad cause my style you’re admiring…
Don’t be mad, UPS is hiring.
I don’t like thugs, I don’t like nerds,
I don’t like myself and I hate bein’ disturbed.
I want a girl with extensions in her hair,
Bamboo earrings, at least two pair,
A Fendi bag and a bad attitude,
That’s all I need to get me in a good mood.
She can walk with a switch and talk with street slang,
I love it when a woman ain’t scared to do her thing.
Once in awhile, I’mma cheat and get dome,
But best believe that I’mma always come home.
Shorty, I luv you.
Type to tote the glock and use gats…
You the type to vote Barack cause dude’s black.
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns,
As I crush so-called Willies, thugs, and rapper-dons.
Why’s my name the Large Professor?
Cause I milked your cow, in other words I hit your heifer.
Scared of a bunch of water? Then get out the rain.
Order a rapper for lunch, and spit out the chain.
And when I smiled, ‘Bing!’ I almost blinded her.
She said, ‘Great Scot, are you a thief?
Seems like you have a mouth full of gold teeth!’
Hahahaha, had to find that funny,
So I said, ‘No child, I work hard for the money.
And calling me a thief? Please…don’t even try it,
Sit down, eat your slice of pizza, and be quiet.’
I got a ill gift, I’m real swift
They be like, ‘Damn, he’s still rich.’
When I send my Men in Black,
Listen, none of them niggas named Will Smith.
I show more blind rage than Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles wrestling in a steel cage.
I don’t like a girl that be hanging with a slut crew,
I can’t sport a female who’s crossed-eyed with a buck tooth.
I need a female I can sport when I’m outdoors.
I’m not choosy…I got a rep to look out for.
EPMD in effect, I’m clockin’ mad green
Like Kermit the Frog, sloppy like Boss Hog,
Girl was runnin’ wild…ate her like a corn dog.
Ayo, the arm bone connected to the hand bone,
Nigga, the hand bone connected to the damn chrome!
Fuck the car, I do a muthafuckin’ walk-by.
Slim Shady: Hotter then a set of twin babies
In a Mercedes Benz, with the windows up
When the temp goes up to the mid 80’s.
L is the rebel type, I’m rough as a metal pipe,
Fuck a Benz, cause I can pull skins on a pedal bike.
I got a funny feeling like something was real wrong…
Looked at her shoes and her feets was real long!
Then it hit me, Oh please God no,
Don’t let this ho turn out to be a John Doe…
He pulled a fast one on me, yo!
Niggas running around fantasizing like they’re Peter Pan…
Your life’s a scam and I’mma fuck it up like Neverland.
I make chicks consider themselves widows whose husbands ain’t even died yet.
Put this in your CD-ROM:
www dot Canibus dot com.
You can find me on the Internet, talkin’ to chicks
That was sweatin’ me off the ‘Music Makes Me High’ remix.
I be talkin’ mad trash, tryin to get ’em to laugh.
See, if I click and drag long enough I’ll get the ass…
When I was born, my mama’s pussy had the new car smell.
And how ‘bout the non-blunt rollin’ females
That always fucks it up ’cause they don’t wanna break their Lee nails?
Shorty, let me tell you about my only vice:
It has to do with lots of lovin’, and it ain’t nuttin’ nice.
I’m like an eclipse on a Friday the 13th,
With black cats and Haley’s Comet,
Blazin’ blunts in my driveway…
Every night I pray to God: ‘Please, no more wack MC’s.’
Shakespeare’s gone, don’t even think about it.
Tell ya mama to stop flirtin’ boy, I’m not a good step-pop.
I interrupt your little session…and wreck shop.
Look here: “Mo’ money, mo’ problems,” my ass.
You’s a naive cat if you still believe that.
For what it’s worth, I’ve been a hip-hopper from birth.
Try to disrespect, and get your ass played up like a Smurf.
Keep bustin about where you rest, and what you own, and what you drive.
So the day some niggaz come for you, I’m really not surprised.
I won’t say I’m the baddest, or portray that role,
But I’m in the top 2, and my father’s gettin’ old.
Lemonade was a popular drink and it still is;
I get more props and stunts than Bruce Willis.
Brothers ain’t half-steppin…they’re walking backwards.
Some girls barely speak, but always askin’ for a dollar.
I call wild niggas together like Cyrus,
And knock off more birds than the West Nile Virus.
I admit skinz ain’t a reason to lose friends,
But then again I didn’t know. Sorry.