Hey Fuck You

Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book, look

Give it back, you're wicky-wack

With your ticky-tack calls, didn't touch you at all

I didn't touch your hand, man, you know it's all ball

You sold a few records but don't get slick

'Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits

Yeah you've been in the game, your career is long

But when you really break it down, you've only got two songs

MCs are like clay pigeons and I'm shootin' skeet

I just yell pull and Mike drops the beat

You people call yourselves MCs but you're garbage men

Takin' out the trash when you pull out the pen

And if you don't like it, then hey, fuck you

Comin' in

Now, I read about you up on page six

They was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed

Now talk about your face now don't get pissed

But I suggest you see a dermatologist

I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak

It's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak

I've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex

'Cause I've got more rhymes than Carl Sagan's got turtlenecks

Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch

You're hearing me and you're like "oh my God its Sasquatch!"

But I'm walkin' on water while you're stepping in shit

So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets licked

And if you don't like it, then hey, fuck you

So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself

So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself

So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself

So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself

And it you don't like it, then hey, fuck you

Sucker MC's it's me they're resenting

In the animal kingdom they call it presenting

With the dipsy doo-doo the kit and kaboodle

The truth is brutal, your grandma's kugel

Kings County is my stomping ground

The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown

So don't ask me to wine and dine ya

I'm from Brooklyn you're from Regina