The day is caught up in thugging, absorbing all my youthA soldier suited and booted, expressing life over beatsYou often doubt and degrade, despite the way I competeBut never will I stop an icon in this gameYou try to label me crazy, but dawg, I'm strictly saneI blaze Mary Jane, relaxing my temperAnd bring with all this fussing and fighting, what will I really gain?Intrigued by the knowledge, Tupac PriestThug life, what a one is what he teachEducated by literature, like a rapping technicianRapping with no skills, like a car with no transmission propositionMama's your supervisorThis world's a mess, smiling like fertilizerHigh power entertainment's your energizerEvery day is a combat, my mic's a tranquilizerThis game is a battleThis game's a tripAll these clowns acting just like some bitchesWhat do you know about dropping tracks and making riches?Mastering a rap game like numbers to a mathematicianCan't see Marlo Mack out of sight* up all your visionLyrical massacres happen on a daily basisWhen I hook up with a homie, Marlo Mack, you better face itMy adrenaline fills my dome so much I can taste itTake a puff on this chronic, call it in, don't need to waste itThen I transform, drop lyrical bonds like fuckersAs far as I penetrate it, come as busy like some hardcore pornSick style, catch me with frowns, I never smileBecause I've been a knucklehead since a juvenileNow I'm a vage, watch me display all my rageDropping heat on microphones like a sawed-off gageAnd this game is a trip, Marlo Mack, I agreeFood's be heading on our ship from Lost to I.E.But that's alright, homie, cause we're ahead of this gameWe're just two kings on this hill looking down on these lambsYou want examples of how we're tight and always come firstPick up criminal mentality and worst of the worstThis game's a tripAll these clowns acting just like some bitchesWhat do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?Mastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematicianCan't see Marlo Mack out of sight* up all your bitchAct the impact of my lyrics, make your rhymes subtractAnd as a matter of fact, I like to see you reactNow maybe too much pride is what you have insideWhy don't you write your own raps?What's the harder to decide?I'm overqualifiedYour * style is fried, you're * gayCleaning lyrics with a bunch of *With a bottle of Tide, so just ask yourselfWhere did I go wrong?Marlo Mack, I'm dropping ammo, lyrics forming a songDJ Phib on the boards, criminal on the bongI ain't claiming I'm a player and my dick's all longI just know one thing, and it's a cold-ass factWhen it comes to flippin' verses, homie, you're * whackYou can talk all your *, shave your head all you wantBut in a one-on-one battle, fool, you just got gotLyrically sprayed, what AKs, you're in a dazeYou coulda never find your way out of this funhouse, mansThis game's a tripAll these clowns acting just like some bitchesWhat do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?What do you know about dropping tracks and making witches?Mastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematicianCan't see Marlo Mack out of sightFuckin' up all your visionThis game's a tripAll these clowns acting just like some bitchesWhat do you know about dropping tracks and making witchesMastering the rap game like numbers to a mathematicianCan't see Marlo Mack out of sightAnd see Marlo Mack out of sight, * up all your vision.That's the homie Marlo Mack from the Hot Pod Entertainment.Dropping that lyrical * for ya.See more.Now it's a little lesson to be learned.You motherfuckers can't rap.So I'm scared.Get out the * game.Straight up, homie.You're * it up.And for me, that Mr. Capone with the motherfucking knee.* that boss.