Hidden Track

[Verse]: I won't beg to get my CD played, everybody be afraid What I write will piss more people off than the meter maid Somewhat a tyrant I deserve to be feared Like a United pilot with a turban and a beard I'm peer pressure, put discouraging words in your ear Lose track of how many guest spots I murder in a year And it's nothing to joke about when I step in the building My facial expression is like you would step on my children Cookie cutter motherfuckers, take a stab at me I done had a tougher time trying to battle my bad acne I'm comin with skills you fuckin' with me, I spit bombs You run of the mill like W.S. sitcoms You ain't what you used to be Every song you slip another notch and decline like you Easy Mo Bee's producer fee My creative juices be enough to fill a river up A sea up, so re-up with a full clip, nigga what?! Supastition in the house like that. Uh Marco Polo in the house like that y'all Doin' it, doin' it, that's right