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Weezy, what's up with it, brotha? Tell Maestro I need to fuck over his beat real quick Hear me? I'm the best rapper under twenty-five, twenty-four inches on my ride Ball like 23 and I shot my first .22 when I was nine That's no lie, ho Rappers out they mothafucking minds, so I gotta go 'Psycho' on these niggas, call me Norman Bates with a poker face Got the banger in my hand and I'm out to poke your face .38 Special, grab it, let him have it – "Where the safe?" We hungry, Housing Quthority saved my Section 8 My section be on the west side of Compton, Cali, champ Where them killers posted on the corner like a letter stamp Let a rapper tell me I ain't better than whoever's out I'ma knock 'em out his Force 1's once I air 'em out Air jets flying 'cross the atlas I made it, momma, made a promise Married to Hip-Hop, and the maid of honor gonna be R&B I'm fucking her too, so please hand me my condoms Where the honeymoon in the motherfucking booth You're fucking right, I'm the fucking truth I put my hand on The Bible Swear to God, if I lie, then I'll probably die tomorrow Tell my momma don't feel sorrow, 'cause her son was a gunner They found my corpse with a rapper's head in my stomach I'm right here, I ain't running even if the Iraqis w-was in back of me Back against the wall, I'm clapping them rapidly, y'all Would never stop what you can't see It's like a red light when driving with Stevie Wonder if you can understand or withstand the blast of my wrath I steer the game with both hands while you crash Like Earnhardt, my heart to the fallen soldiers You can either ride, or get rolled over Sleeping on me, I put you in a coma So please chill out, before you meet the coldest Starving every day, see my face where the bowl is Bowl on my face, I walk while my mouth hold it Hold it I'm the best rapper under twenty-five, twenty-four inches on my ride Ball like 23 and I shot my first .22 when I was nine 21 gun salute And my soldiers killed twenty of your troops at a time And I got about nine teens on the corner fucking with marijuana jive And heard about eighteen rappers say that a bird can go for seventeen-point-five Motherfuck that – my sweet sixteens be equivalent to about fifteen pie I was fourteen when I wrote a rhyme All I seen was thirteen ghosts every time I wrote a crazy line All these 12 bars in my verses, that's what Notorious and Pac arrived Goddammit, I spit just like a MAC-11 every time I drop jewels, you drop dimes, you pretending to be like mine I intend to put about ten of you rappers on Channel 9 Straight up, fuck around and get ate up Cut 'em up in seven ways Funeral carried by six in five days You'll know I go for money When I sink my teeth in 'Carter III' beats – to you from me My son, the victory is mine, I won I'm the one The beat was the pussy And I cum, hard