When I enter the mist, I'm the reason that the pendulum shiftsYou wouldn't write with an intricate twist if I didn't existI'm the difference, you know I'm deaf, I give you a kiss if you're slippingWhen I'm in the room, I make lyricists dig deeperOpen they notebook, look over they shoulder and see the grim reaperPeople done stole my rhymes so many timesI done heard my lines in nine battle raps and ten featuresSix-funk flex freestyles, hold it nowRappers, y'all be calling the goat, be using the stolen styleFrom the golden child, it's like I went to Fogo to shoutCrook is ready to beef with the gods, I'm eating holy cowI turn your Mount Rushmore into a volcanoFlow hotter than lava, you not a, but it's all buenoY'all actors like John Stamos and Clark GableThe dark angel with a cop flag singing the Star SpangledBusters, flip modeI been flipping for 51 weeks and my *'s coldDears done flipped 50 times, I'm the only one who's ever done thatAnyone beats, it's a big loadYou can't hear bars like these on a hit songI run, I run, flip modeI'm on some forever *, I'ma never get oldI'm on some eloquent, intelligent ghetto *Mixed with black excellence, talking that yellow brick roadLike Diana Ross, I am a bossNo more smoke talk, unless it's from the Porsche, Cayenne exhaustJingle bells, * your single salesI don't mingle wellWith mainstream artists, I see a male TinkerbellWith a dress on, impressor on, fingernails, we can tellYou'll never be ChappelleYou ain't willing to lose money just to keep yourselfWe excel, we prevail, be ourselvesFor I lay with you devils, I'd rather sleep in hellNew slaves drinking out of massesFamily can't handle freedom wellBack to rappers, from here to MinneapolisI slap them backwards, my spit is immaculateNo rapping after my city is hazardousI pack a clapper, I'm sick as a masochistSlashing his own Adam's apple for sexual pleasureThe weeklies are our intellectual treasureThat affect you forever, same texture as leather, it's roughBuster, flip modeI been flippin' for fifty-one weeks and my *'s coldDears done flipped fifty-one beats, it's a big loadYou can't hear bars like these on a hit songI run, I run, flip modeI'm on some forever *, I'ma never get oldI'm on some eloquent, intelligent ghetto *Mixed with black excellence, talkin' that yellow brick roadLike Diana Ross, I am a bossNo more smoke talk, unless it's from the Porsche, Cayenne exhaustYeahI couldn't shout everybody outBut I love all of youI love all y'allOne week left