[Verse 1: Jakki Da Motamouth]
I’m glad n***as hate when I'm masked in the place
Get you mad when I fondle your bitch’s ass in your face
Glad that you fake ‘cause you look silly when I apply
White-out to your gluteus, son, your ass is erased
Cut out, retarded kid, I'm gonna battle with friends
Son evolved, then I'll smack him if he asks me again
Slightly tired and grim. To rhyme like me, you need
To ask your god permission to be higher than him
Yo, these words you spit ain’t ripping me, chief
Hit the road like you trying to stick your dick in the street
Kick in your teeth, you can’t bite, you suckling corn, your ugly
Mom got a dick, now how the fuck was you born?
I eat pussy, so you I know I'm gonna go through
I'm looking at your bitch, wondеring how the fuck she chose you
I'm making cakе, and you're the main ingredient
Yeah, I heard your tape. So what are you? A stand-up comedian?
I lie too much, I'm such a disgrace
I’ll tell n***as they’re dope just to get ‘em out my face, I'm able
To read stunts, and I'm eyeing your freak. She been faithful
For three months, and she dying to cheat
Listen to this cat, he way up in space. N***a, you wack
You need to get the fuck up out of my face
It's Jakki from the Weathermen crew. You know?
The one who all your n***as say is better than you
And I'm sitting in this circle with these babbling elves
You’re cypher’s boring. Here, let me battle myself
You n***as getting mopped, kid, I trust you suck
Say I’m weak around your pops, and he'll fuck you up
You're losing your health, losing your belt, hop in your body
Look in the mirror and watch you lose to yourself
Motherfuckers are lunch when I brawl, I'll put you in a headlock
Bite in your cranium and punch ‘til you crawl
[Verse 2: Yak Ballz]
Yo, yo, yo, float to the
Main floor where atoms is broke and amateurs smoked
Inhaling spirits like I naturally toke. After I choke
Rappers don't even wanna touch the mic
Whores telling me they wanna fuck tonight. Son, I’m
Razor-sharp with mine, boxcutter slice
Sparkling, harboring missiles within the carton
(But some kids wanna battle you, pa) Fuck all that nonsense
I’ll formulate raps endlessly, orchestrate
Symphonies, the Weathermen taking over the industry
Y'all cats be afraid, but I can see with my eyes closed
Take you out in a hoodie like a Jedi robe, it goes:
Fuck 5-0 ‘cause I hate the cops, n***a
I set fire to the stage you rock, busting slugs
From the heart as if there’s guns in my chest while you shook
Like a little bitch with a lump in her breast, so bow down
When you see me and my duns in the flesh, so shut
The fuck up and show show respect, you fucking faggot
Weathermen, yo

[Verse 3: Copywrite]
In this most aggressive art form, none of you bastards want it
‘Cause I don't paint on the canvas, I slam rappers on it
I'm seeing crumbs with their snippet tapes, passing ‘em out
Pass it to me? Get it tossed to the trash with a smile
And I know you give a fuck, bitch. Boy, admit it
I give two shits in the tissue in the toilet with it
You flow sick but take too long spitting your coldest
I can make a cure before any symptoms are noticed
Motherfuckers ain't nice, y’all cats ain't even halfway polite
Do yourselves a favor: pass me the mic
I see exhausted emcees in the ring with friends trying
Exalted is he with the strength of ten lions
Constantly ripping through these rigid crews, in the
Confession booth, I repent for sins I didn't do
Damn right. The grimy rhyme serpent trapped beneath Earth’s surface
‘Til I’m summoned, escape my god if we get a virgin
Bullet speed, extend from any weapon, pledge
To every brethren to keep y’all on the edge of every second
Young buck, I'm immaculate when my lungs rock
You're an inadequate precum drip accident from a cumshot
Faggot, I'll boo you in the crowd, chew you with a style
Nut in your Corona, saw your toolie with a smile
[Verse 4: Tage Proto]
Yeah, yo, you’re probably embarrassed
To convey your rhyme in front of more than your fam
‘Cause deep down, the lack of confident overwhelms
Your ability to rock well within public dwells
Catch me in local hotels on 4/13
Taking intentional pauses to slapbox your ovary
It’s Tage Proto, more dope lines than a heroin addict
My craft’s hard to grasp like mathematics, black magic
Pop and drop perpendicular to the usual
Photoshopping fuck-ups the very best thing for you to do
Realistically speaking, there isn't shit that you can do
Your squad a pile of kids so nobody can boo for you
There’s more for your score, raw for our altar
What you know of poetry’s like Gretzky in the fourth quarter
Absorb all your music and use it as our motive
Still in this to show you how much of a fuck I don't give
How much of a fuck I don't give?
I take out you dumb fucks with numbnuts, yup
Young sluts, pull you into dump trucks, bend you
With done cunts. For lungs cut, I'm sparking a genius
You’ve been marching between us to Mars or to Venus
I’ll stick the arrow from the back of the neck, fall out your penis
Accurately serve your bitch styles like Martina Hingis
Stop and opt to follow the proper procedures
The most alive like [?]
Pick up all of the pieces, go and call the polices
Sucker boy
[Verse 5: Vast Aire]
Look at you pouring syrup on shit since pancakes
Now if I slap your tape deck, the beat might break
Talking a bunch of “I mights,” but, son, I will
Outpower you, meteor-shower you
Happily ever after? That's a never (That’s a never)
What the fuck you think this is? A utopia?
You sound like your man got you amped up
Notice that's the same cat picking you up. I'll take
A chainsaw to your ice grill, make it a smiley face
We chew ‘em up and spit ‘em out if we don't like the taste
We flew through Oxford institution with flying colors and left
The stage sideways like The Flying Wonder
You could be famous, stars get smacked back
Whether they in physical form or where the gods stay at
Son, I know so many friends in high places (High places). That means
The blunt’s belly is getting split in high places
Either rooftops, staircases, and once
Done with the raps, we dismember the mic and cement cases
You know our favorite phrases. Yeah, we bite fixes
Verbal stabs so fast, leave no blood traces
And you can't scab, incarcerated
In white cells [?]
You cats ain't ready for this heavy abyss
Decoy octopus, eight arms with black mist
Now [?] bowed out, eight bars you done missed
Listen, I'm done with this like Sonya Blade when she blows a kiss

[Verse 6: Cage]
[?] out of my mouth out, see the words doused out
Spit a verse that got my frontal lobe bounced out
All couched out while [?] speed up my brain
Approach God, Mr. Cage pissed, they’re bleeding my name
Evacuate the pad with no blood cell count
Stick my fingers into the street to shake the shells out
Sew on three stripes to my fatigued flesh
Put a loaded shotgun to my face and tease Death
Left the hospital to throat-bang her
Pull out gas-faced child with a fucking coat hanger
Watched his head pop when I stepped on it, KCR
Audience’ll get schooled, flick the vomit
Promo bullshit got some little bums jealous
Where their eyeballs impaled on drink umbrellas
I drop shit for the crowd to figure out, you touch the mic
The crowd [?]