King T's drunk again? Yo, check this out. Aw shit. Aw shit. I wanna dedicate this song to all them motherfuckers out there that, that, that, that, that, that, that. Not again. Perpetratin'. Perpetratin'. Perpetratin'. Wait. Rewind. Hey, what's up? King T, man. What is this, man? What is this? Some cool shit for the King's anthology. And when I'm done, don't expect no apology. Stupid motherfuckers should've stepped when I warned them. I'm from the boondocks of Compton, California. I'm just anxious to whoop some ass. I went to high school, but I flunked every class. So what makes you think I give a fuck about respect? I'll put your bitch in check and I bet you won't run up. Son of a punk and a bitch too. I should've did a drive-by on you and your crew. Cause y'all be poppin' some shit that's unheard of. For you, what's the word of? Whack. It's murder, son. When I be crushin' your hood with a passion. And I ain't talkin' that Action Jackson. When I come, you better run for ammo. I'll get played like a fuckin' piano. And yo, we got my homeboy Ice Cube in the house. I'm the motherfuckin' Lynch Mob. What's up, nigga? And yo, Ice Cube, I heard you singin' now. Man, what's up? Yo, yo. Don't write me, but I don't sing, motherfucker. I kick shit with the king, motherfucker. Ice Cube will clock the cash, rock the mass. And if you run up, I'll suck you. And watch that eye get swollen. Cause I'm playin' punk niggas like Beethoven. So bust a cap or swing and die. Fuck your printer. It's still the king and I. Cause where I'm from, the sun don't shine. So one time, hope I only bust one rhyme. But I bust one more for the suckers. Last year, I was ruthless. Now I'm legit, motherfucker. And you'll see in the tree MCs and crews. Now they lookin' for me, King T, and Pooh. Now every nigga that cross me soprano. Cause I play their ass like a fuckin' piano. Yo, check this out. We got my homeboy Breeze in the motherfuckin' house from L.A. Posse. And he got some shit to holla. Come on, man. Bust this shit. Well, I'ma take the mic like it was a jack move. Run with the beat as long as the track flows. Hot ass lava organized like a seminar. Serve you, your crew, him, and then another. Couple of rap zaps you think they could get. But you slipped and shit, so nitwit. Just get the nuts, killin' your high hopes. Watchin' your right nose better walk a chalk line. Now fuck it, I type a rap slicker, thicker, quicker than others. Then I stop, swift, shift from first to fifth while you stop to shoplift. Take the mic stand whenever the duty calls. If I bust enough of every rhyme I had, I get blue form. Serious of drama, I'ma watch and say, me too. You're shorter than me, shoot. Your rhymes are see-through. You're nothin' like GQ. Transparent, I made it apparent. I made a wax syntax that incoherent. Cause B-R-E-E-Z-E will easily remain to be a top MC. When you see me, I wear a beanie and not a Kangol. Now you got played like a fuckin' piano. This is just a sample of three black negros. Who grew up in the heart of the ghetto. Doin' what we have to just to make ends meet. Some steal for a living, some stand on the streets just slang. Some gang bang, but big deal. They say a cop, then you gotta kill or get killed. Motherfuckin' police pull you over, slam you down. Then tell you that your hood is their town. And I ain't goin' for no shit like that. Cuff me up, take me to jail, I'll come back. Talkin' much shit, cause I talk what the fuck I feel. A few weeks in the county ain't no big deal. So a punk like you can't fuck with me. That big ballin' ass nigga named King T. You think you can, I don't think that you can though. Peace to Ice Cube and B-R-E-E-Z-E and the fuckin' piano. Yeah, nigga!