Twenty-Thirteen

I don't throw molotovs I drink them so I spit fire, while you on hollow bars The direction of the radio is left, so you better come follow ours The only right way, homie, we be paying homage to Nas Rakim, Em, the 'Kast and the countless other greats And like them live forever, rap's sideway eights Eternal, the mainstream get me pissed like I urinal You're no artist, I'd rather be at your mothafucking funeral Than your concert, I'mma rap 'til I'm sixty-six And if you hating, go fuck yourself, homie, stick sixty dicks Up in that ass of yours and let them dicks investigate Get it, dicks investigate? Man, you should give me less of hate And more of love, cause more love equals more buzz And more buzz equals me over-buzzing These non-buzz-deserving mothafuckas, yeah, homie I be serving Ill rhymes, Guetta and Psy fans, I go on their nerve and I know I ain't the greatest of all time, I'm timeless And homie, when I spit this rhyme, I leave you rhymeless Even a prayer won't help you, you're Quranless, Psalmless Rap without me today, like hands that are palmless I bomb this microphone like I be a terrorist An error is not an option, homie, I be errorless Fucking perfect, in this prime I'll be like Aerosmith Don't worry, homie, chill, it's cool, I'mma take care of this I don't require fire arm I shoot these rhymes like bullets and get you fucked-up like when Em fucked Mariah I'm the rap game's messiah, the prophet, not in it just for the profit But you are, so grab your pension, retire Oh my I'm a mothafucking menace to society Cause unlike most of it today, I care about variety I cannon all you weak rappers, again, where Mariah be? The hip pop's vagon's done riding, cause I fucked with the tires, see Rhymes speeding like bullets, bars speeding like nascars So quite trying, mothafucka, you'll never be as hard