Laundry List o'Vices

Ladies and Gentlemen Nick... You a laundry list of vices I don't got my license but, I could drive figurates round The State's rappers Huh, Rick Ross you the boss eh? But the only thing that you share with Biggy is your man titty weight Burnt rubber round your body that's a crosshair You the slave class - Nietzschean but I am self-aware Find your name on the list of rappers i'm'own kill See that cap on my head, that is not a seal Can't contain me, I'm an Ami out the Winehouse Unafraid of mistakes, my paper afraid of whiteout Maybe next year Barack will meet me at the Whitehouse You foolish like going to Slaughterhouse, saying "it's my house!" They call me the Grim Reaper When I control her receiver better than Justin Bieber, you'll be saying crap like Wiz Kalifa rap (it's a wrap) Why Been tryna get in the game but the door's black, the bouncer's big, and the door mat's got spikes and a rig, and if you saw that there's a crowd of kids waiting for you to fall flat They say I'm a cartoonist, and when I speak it's like these colors/characters make silence unbleak - so when I swear don't bleep If you'sa hater come seek the truth with me, for that you'll need a lobotomy and a baptism; I think my rapism comes from the world's crap; isn't it whack how these kids in Africa starving? Can seem like the mountain high like Marvin, plus the gays is taking over; the old schoolers wanna steamroll'em Can't make it to heaven; may as well spit happy, roll sevens, work at Seven Eleven Supersize me; I want the heart-attack - you'll feel attacked when I start to rap; this is a warm up, I don't wanna waste rhymes on this silly DJ Premier primetime; don't get my lines? Y'all best press rewind