Still Listening (Remix)

[Intro] [Jakki talking] Yo... yo That's a classic slang before a motherfuckin' rap song Just thought I'd toss that shit in [Jakki Tha Motamouth] I'm glad niggas hate when I mash in the place Get you mad when I palm your bitches ass in your face I laugh when you fake Cause you look silly when I apply Whiteout to your gluteus son Your ass is erased Tell that retarded kid I won't battle his friend So he lost and I'll smack him if he asks me again You slightly tired and grim To rhyme like me You need to ask your god permission to be higher than him Then we heard you spit, ain't rippin' me chief Hit the road like you tryin' to stick your dick in the street Kick in your teeth You can't bite, you suckin' on corn Your ugly mom got a dick, now how the fuck was your born? I eat pussy, so you? You know I'm gonna go through I'm lookin' at your bitch, wondering how the fuck she chose you I make a cake and you're the main ingredient Yeah I heard your tape So what are you? A stand up comedian? I lie too much I'm such a disgrace I tell niggas they dope just to get them out my face I'm able to read stunts and I'm eyein' your freak She's been faithful for three months and she dyin' to cheat Listen to this cat He way out in space Nigga you wack, you need to get the fuck up outta my face It's Jakki from the Weathermen crew You know, the one who all you niggas say is better than you And I'm sittin' in this ciphers with these babblin' L's Your cipher is boring, here let me battle myself You niggas are gettin' mopped kid I trust you suck Say I'm weak around your pops and he'll fuck you up You're losing your health, losing your belt Hop in your body, look in the mirror and watch you lose to yourself Motherfuckers are lunch when I brawl Put you in a headlock Bite on your cranium and crunch on your skull [Copywrite] Rashaad your music is dog shit, cat Don't ever talk crap Been signed for five years Still can't reach the level I'm at Gettin' jerked by every label you fuck with Your sister's got talent Was it your mom or you who taught her to suck dick? Used to have the number two crew before they stepped, soldier No Logic and Tage left Now you got leftovers Beats are a pity plus your singin' is shitty No one knows y'all cause y'all ain't done a thing in the city And none of you chumps can't fuck with half the clans I shit on I'll kill Rashaad Now you don't have a chance to get on Your ass represents about as much as a black president CD sounds like The Lox with a cash deficit You half steppin' it Y'all ain't battle equipped Shit, I'll sell you one of my rhymes to battle me with I could go on for days on how poor you bitch queens are But no one knows you so you ain't worth more than 16 bars [Blueprint] This rap war Keep us on the move like matadors Three role models, invade your catalogs We heard you got stacks of props and wax galore I bum rush the front Jakki's at the back door You ran as expected Scared to show your spine Jetted for the exit Right into his clothesline Hit the ground and blacked out Drops your gold mine Woke up and saw we had you set up the whole time I keep tabs On crabs with loose lips I follow 'em to work Document their movements I stake out open mics I listen to they music I even take flicks of the chicks they fool with Fool proof, bullet proof Plan that can't fail To black mail big money cats that rap frail They chewin' off they fingers They bitin' at the nail Greenhouse celebrated with a glass of ale They never saw me comin' I kill beef skillfully I got three verses for cats that ain't feelin' me The first one's subliminal without your identity The other two got your name if you try to shit on me That's three For each MC I don't speak to I start with the veterans I finish with the weak crews Don't assume I can't write about it till I meet you I had a verse ready before I had beef with you I see you tryin' to steal my spark But don't think your closed mind can box in my art For crews that wanna bite, I'll put a dagger in your heart Break up your cipher, leave it lookin' like a pie chart I hope you like second place You'll have to settle The consolation prize is in bronze medals Vice like my grip, we can thumb wrestle I have your hands lookin' like an Auntie Aunt's Pretzel I'm bigger than bass lines Bigger than beat tapes Bigger than 45's and bigger than beat breaks I'm bigger than bootleggers Bigger than cheapskates Bigger than internet hype and album release dates I shine on dirty dubs and fucked up mix downs I shine in closed caption, when you can't hear a sound The testament to my skill is you're still listenin' Forty bars later and never lost attention