The day is caught up in thugging, absorbing all my youth
A soldier suited and booted, expressing life over beats
You often doubt and degrade, despite the way I compete
But never will I stop an icon in this game
You try to label me crazy, but dawg, I'm strictly sane
I blaze Mary Jane, relaxing my temper
And bring with all this fussing and fighting, what will I really gain?
Intrigued by the knowledge, Tupac Priest
Thug life, what a one is what he teach
Educated by literature, like a rapping technician
Rapping with no skills, like a car with no transmission proposition
Mama's your supervisor
This world's a mess, smiling like fertilizer
High power entertainment's your energizer
Every day is a combat, my mic's a tranquilizer
This game is a battle
This game's a trip
All these clowns acting just like some bitches
What do you know about dropping tracks and making riches?
Mastering a rap game like numbers to a mathematician
Can't see Marlo Mack out of sight
* up all your vision
Lyrical massacres happen on a daily basis
When I hook up with a homie, Marlo Mack, you better face it
My adrenaline fills my dome so much I can taste it
Take a puff on this chronic, call it in, don't need to waste it
Then I transform, drop lyrical bonds like fuckers
As far as I penetrate it, come as busy like some hardcore porn
Sick style, catch me with frowns, I never smile
Because I've been a knucklehead since a juvenile
Now I'm a vage, watch me display all my rage
Dropping heat on microphones like a sawed-off gage
And this game is a trip, Marlo Mack, I agree
Food's be heading on our ship from Lost to I.E.
But that's alright, homie, cause we're ahead of this game
We're just two kings on this hill looking down on these lambs
You want examples of how we're tight and always come first
Pick up criminal mentality and worst of the worst
This game's a trip
All these clowns acting just like some bitches
What do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?
Mastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematician
Can't see Marlo Mack out of sight
* up all your bitch
Act the impact of my lyrics, make your rhymes subtract
And as a matter of fact, I like to see you react
Now maybe too much pride is what you have inside
Why don't you write your own raps?
What's the harder to decide?
I'm overqualified
Your * style is fried, you're * gay
Cleaning lyrics with a bunch of *










With a bottle of Tide, so just ask yourself
Where did I go wrong?
Marlo Mack, I'm dropping ammo, lyrics forming a song
DJ Phib on the boards, criminal on the bong
I ain't claiming I'm a player and my dick's all long
I just know one thing, and it's a cold-ass fact
When it comes to flippin' verses, homie, you're * whack
You can talk all your *, shave your head all you want
But in a one-on-one battle, fool, you just got got
Lyrically sprayed, what AKs, you're in a daze
You coulda never find your way out of this funhouse, mans
This game's a trip
All these clowns acting just like some bitches
What do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?


What do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?
Mastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematician
Can't see Marlo Mack out of sight
Fuckin' up all your vision
This game's a trip
All these clowns acting just like some bitches
What do you know about dropping tracks and making witches
Mastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematician
Can't see Marlo Mack out of sight




And see Marlo Mack out of sight, * up all your vision.
That's the homie Marlo Mack from the Hot Pod Entertainment.
Dropping that lyrical * for ya.
See more.
Now it's a little lesson to be learned.
You motherfuckers can't rap.
So I'm scared.
Get out the * game.
Straight up, homie.
You're * it up.
And for me, that Mr. Capone with the motherfucking knee.
* that boss.