And I just want to make sure that, you know, that this shit doesn't get out of hand.
Hey, Paul, you know what I'm saying? This guy's starting to believe in himself now.
You know what I'm saying? This little chump is starting to believe in himself.
You feel what I'm saying? You know, he's passionate.
The streets gotta know that this nigga's a fucking fake. He's a phony.
I feel you.
You know what I'm saying? He's a fucking phony.
Who could this motherfucker harm?
He has to be exposed, and I'm not gonna stop exposing him.
I went after what the state of hip-hop is from the streets' perspective.
He felt like he could fucking disrespect me on something.
He wants to fight me?
It's not like he's gonna do anything.
Well, I'm saying where? And when?
Lord help us. My people's being raped.
Deliver me from evil, and I sell his devil's fate.
Let's take a closer look at what's really happening.
He wants you to believe that it was all about rapping.
And all I try to do is open up my nigga's eyes.
It wasn't about me and Em, you gotta realize.
It's just a smokescreen.
My niggas, there's a bigger picture.
I want the streets to pay attention, cause I'm riding with ya.
If credibility is what we here for, then why ain't the hood selling units no more?
Tell me why.
Labels acting like it's good, so they say so.
EPMD was always gold with no radio.
Now it's time to turn to prophecy.
Time's up. Marshall Mathers gotta die.
Rise up. No choice.
The only way we gonna turn this shit around is put this little bitch in the ground.
And the so-called kings? Steady going at each other.
Do songs with the devil, while they fighting with they brothers.
It's fucking pitiful. We always in some drama.
Let them slide through, then they divide, conquer.
And every plantation got a bunch of house niggas.
Shady Records just a bunch of house niggas.
Extra security in your front lobby.
Better call the secret service, if you gonna stop me.
Paul Rosenberg, you fat fucking pig.
I'm holding you responsible for what this bitch did.
Cause you called me up, trying to cop a plea.
As far as I'm concerned, you both gon' bleed.
Talk about he wanna fight. Please.
Let's set that shit up quick, so I can drop him to his knees.
You let a clown clown you. How insane is that?
You let him tongue kiss your wife when you had a gat?
How you gonna have a gun with no bullets?
Oh, don't worry, cause when I see you, I'm gon' pull it.
You dyed your hair blonde, I'ma make it red.
How you gon' sell records, Marshall, when you dead?
Make you pay for that bullshit you talking.
I'm going hard in the streets of New York.
Just ask Chuck how he ran him out of Boston.
He should've been killed, left in the car.
And you better keep my kids out your fucking mouth.
Before I put a Glock in your motherfucking mouth.
Tell Hailey it ain't safe no more.
Daddy better watch your back at the candy store.
You fucked up. Resort to plan B.
Fuck around, she end up like Joan Renee Ramsey.
Matter of fact, you better check the DNA.
She probably ain't yours, and where's your wife, Kim, anyway?
She's on her knees somewhere sucking 50 cent.
I know you wishing you were there, cause you on his dick.
You dressing drag. You hugging up on Elton John.
You closet fag. I'm a king. You a little pawn.
You the rap David Duke. The rap Hitler.
The culture stealer. Niggas ain't with ya.
I'm the rap Huey. The rap Malcolm. The rap Martin.
Don't worry, I'ma finish what we started.
And everybody wanna scream Pac's name.
You don't make a difference. You in it for the fame.
Cause if Pac was living, he would shoot his bitch alive.
But I'ma do it for him. Then the hood might survive.
You sleep at 5-0. You off with the fence.
Better keep the lights on when they tuck you in the bed.
Cause I'ma get your silly ass, find out where you lay.
When Debbie set you up, you gon' die another day.
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