What Is It

[Verse 1: Masta Ace] Every season I'm out, I'm hot without a reasonable doubt Raps in a pleasing amount I'm squeezing 'em out All this beef is about increasing your clout Hot rhymes I got a decent amount and I'm leasing 'em out With the option to own stop watching the chrome Go home little rascal and learn that poem When I mix paper and ink I'm making you think It's like pouring a glass of poison, and taking a drink My teeth is sharp they're better to eat rappers Why you wanna keep at this you need practise I'm well known to inflict pain, like knee fractures If I wrote a book You'd be dead in the first three chapters It's a habit of mine, to put cats on a rapping decline You get shot with a knife, stabbed with a nine You're career's about as stable, as a three legged table I'll put out more records myself, than your whole label Talking all that thug shit, like you're so able The worst thing you did in your life, was stole cable You're too lite in the ass to be fighting the mass I leave you right in the grass I'm lightning fast I'm nice know, shit I was tight in the past I throw you right in the dash like a frightening crash You 're like Bruce Willis in sixth sense and I'mma show it And that's cos your careers dead, but you don't know it [Hook: Masta Ace] (x2) What is it when the shit so tight That you can't, you can't stop do it all night What is it when the spot so hot That you just won't stop Until you drop, What is it [Verse 2: Masta Ace] I'm like a loyal husband cause I don't fuck around It's impossible to get shot stabbed or knuckled down Got no place on stage with me look around If this was the HBO fight, you wouldn't have took a round Must have had a lobotomy taking a shot at me Couldn't fuck with one verse, that ever came outta me Thought that it was a big game, 'till I spit blames Need to walk with a cane, cause you're shit's lame You're on the wrong road, you should've switched lanes I'm a bit strange and I don't skip names And you're next on the list, not a second to miss And after the party you'll probably have sex with your fist Consecutive this, put them little lines on hold I can write rhymes in the darkness, with a blindfold My shit will still be sicker fill me with liquor Put a mic in my hand and I'll be killing you quicker The shit you spit, you consider it, legitimate¨ You're illiterate, I don't even feel you a little bit Walking around with your big fitted, you can get it You're whole album's been spitted, I been did it You dimwitted, rap style's anorexic When you wrote that you should have went back Double checked it, I perfect it Sit on it like Ralph Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth [Hook: Masta Ace] (x2)