while the original is cool, Meth loses his fukking mind on the album version
This rap shyt bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned
Pull your plug, now you can't function
There's no total or sum to this equation, you frozen
Many may come but few are chosen
Pretty nikkas want to play the war posin
When the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen
Do or die, it be I, Metaphysical Man
Holding court for my Wu, indivisible clan
I see your thoughts and your hand reachin
It's getting deep in this mud
Cats heat seekin for one blood
Nameless thugs with aimless slugs, shootin at these stank bytches
Lets see who gon' bring this above, I make switches
From the lamp I grant three wishes
Johnny be pollyin, I Blaze bridges, then I roll
One hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body
One hundred percent soul: individual
a$$holes tend to run
From this PLO extortion, who the one
The next chamber, you fukkin with the star spangler
To the dawn's early light with this head-banger
Boogie, represent this shyt fully
Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully
Who want that pressure, about to get smacked silly
Like a fat bytch in Spandex, free Willy!
We on some illy, check the joint,
engine, engine number nine
nikkas wastin time worryin about me and mine?
Get your own shyt...
although I like the overall song better too,that verse alone puts it over the original...that's rap scripture right there...
