Intro:
(Samuel L. Jackson)
"I said, I want these motherfucking snakes
Off my motherfucking plane!"

Hahahaha, AAAAH!
Hip-Hop has too way many anacondas
Fake ass balling and "real rap" bros
Thinking their reptilian asses, have legs and are slith
When they never had words, to begin with

Hook:
You have to know these figures of speech, it better be
A metaphor, when you (Go figure) speaking about me
Or that chalk outline, gonna be figured out in the streets
Don't mention 6 figures in my presence, you diva action figurines

Verse 1:
All I hear nowadays, is everyone up to no good, just evil
The D'evil's in your crew, are less cru-el than, Cru-ella D'e-ville
Emcees trying to act like scam artists, scamming those in the arts
Cocky ass upstarts, whose voices ain't note-worthy mo' than farts
While my craft-Hov-ers-o'er, your Craft Mac-N-Cheesy asses
Triple entendre, so please don't ask me how, ask Hov
You damn amateurs, who have no respect nor love
For the form, can't read anywhere, regarding the lines
Unless it's burning trees, purple streams, or a hero-in white soda
We both already know, about that ego and how you're "No homo"
Except all you can rap about is a mic, held close in your hand-les
While it's wrapped close to your lips, so full of your self
Cause, within it has that lightbulb: you're a flashing ass-hole
Ever wonder that's why, all you spit is fecal-matter (no subject)?
Bending backwards to reverse cowgirl, a dickrided rapper's style
Which is an homoerotic urge, you unconsciously, just can't help
Man, it's straight away to Leviticus, with these fuck n***as, bruh

Hook:
You have to know these figures of speech, it better be
A metaphor, when you (Go figure) speaking about me
Or that chalk outline, gonna be figured out in the streets
Don't mention 6 figures in my presence, you ballerina figurines