[Verse]
Uh, (Why would I?)

Why would I, ever give a fuck about whatchu ask?
When rappers are tryna ball and ballers are tryna rap
No cap, they probably have more talent then most actual rappers
And that’s not an exaggeration, it’s facts
'Cause I just sit around and look at most of these rappers and laugh
It’s sad knowin' this game will never adapt to greater lengths
These assholes only came for the racks, the paper and cash
Yeah, it’s amazing but that’s not what I aimin' to have
Better face it, I’m back, bad like Cool J on the track
Half of these idiots act likе I ain’t made for this crap
Bitch on my latest raps and say that it’s shit, but it's cap
'Cause litеrally though ridicule, you still playing my tracks
Pity radio stations aren’t even placin' my latest track on their daily rotation
Rather play that Bon Jovi remix, than this than this 808 crap
Critics are fake 'cause “My Life” was basically great but yet they ranking that shit 8 and a half
Fuckin' crazy but that’s part of this game that I’m at
Ya’ll couldn’t graze to the fact, I’m now a mainstream attraction, got you basically mad
Sayin' “Anthony’s shit ain’t same, he used to be great, now he’s just chasin' the bag”
All you mother fuckers complain and debate over crap
Hate on a person who isn’t big, ya’ll a pain in the ass
Why don’t you save your reactions for some other rapper who can’t even rap?
Why don’t you hate up on someone like that?
It is ‘cause I’m an easy target that they never tapped?
Won’t ever say nothing back?
Dawg, you insane if think I ain’t gonna break and just snap
Coffin is raised, no one is safe when these mother fuckers about'a be placed up in that
All these snakes in the grass gossip but ain’t gon’ attack
Fuck tryna say something back
Rather just take all my haters and grab a lyrical bat
Fragile as shit 'cause one hit can shatter you faggots, I’m Stone Cold when I’m breakin' the glass
12 rounds like boxing, I don’t need training for that
Knocking you straight on your back
Obviously I’m too fast, no one is saving your ass
Gotchu in a faze, layin' dazed, lookin' like a democrat when you waivin' the flag
All this cash, mother fuckers act like I’m takin' a bath, money, I ain’t never lacked
But I never mentioned how much money I basically had
Just add all of my albums, divide ‘em by two and you’ll see how many M’s that I have
Yeah, friends going bad, I need’a cleanse on their ass, possibly end what we had
Pick up the pen and the pad, waste all my energy rapping
Writing rhymes to “Vilified” so all these faggots I dissed are now dead in the past
If offended I ask, really, what’s getting you mad?
Is it sentence I rapped, rhyme or my menacing acts?
Or you just sensitive, lacking comprehensive attachments
And pretend to mad, all 'cause generations is trash
And fake like Kardashian’s, it’s a shame that I have to just—
Ah shit, I didn’t it again