He rap and he did a bid, labels, y'all better sign him, I’m tryna warn
But Hollow nice around that mic, yeah 'cause he keep that wire on
I’m cold as cryoton, get his crib firebombed
Smack him with my iron palm from St. Louis to Cybertron
He sweatin bullets, but don’t blame him, he ain’t been around this kind before
I got heat surroundin his bytch ass, to him it feels like we got the dryers on
But check the bets, they got me winnin like ten to five
I’ve been advised, he like to do dumb shyt, he loves to freestyle, likes to improvise
My temper rise, we roll up in black tinted rides
Hop out, nikkas get paralyzed, not penalized
Large clips enter rides, cars flip, injure guys
I’ll beam his whole team up, Starship Enterprise!
Too complex for him even when I’m simplified
If New York is such a jungle, tell me this:
How the fukk do nikkas like him survive?
We terrorize timid guys, cotton shirt, linen guys
Light-skinned, slender guys, the target’s been identified
There could be a long line of rappers who gettin signed
If he in the front, I'ma jump him like, “Shut up bytch, I been in line!”
I’m back poppin, got rap in my back pocket
You can’t beat me with yelling, yapping, and hat coppin
Not while the street nikkas is staring and the hoodrats is watching
'Cause now that I’m a felon, failin is not an option
He walk around boppin like nikkas will not rock him
The canon (Cannon) like a camera, I scan him and snapshot him
Bam, got him! Queens wouldn’t give a damn 'bout him
I showed up for a slugfest, this nikka was slapboxin
Verb got the 2nd clearly, dont know how anybody could give Hollow that battle at all