Low Life Muthafuckas

Verse 1: JT Money

Roll out the red carpet let the bugles blow

The pimp deserves a grand intro y'don't know?

I know you're sick of bubble gum w/rappers puttin' you to bed

But not JT Money I'm somethin' like a SudaFed

I give relief that's far from lousy

And get the job done without gettin' you drowsy

Since I'm from the bottom the other rappers tried dissin'

But in the end, my ass they'll be kissin'

I must state how stupid remarks

Can cause enough friction to give off sparks

Makin' people think that a giant king

Couldn't come from the bottom 'cause of second string

But I'ma make history as I get hype

Drop a science that'll damage that stereotype

Ask for drama, 'cause I'ma, bout to set off

A Poisonous freestyle, instead of

The average, ordinary everyday thing

I'm outstandin', leavin' rappers out standin' in the rain

Poison like venom, gettin' in 'em, then I conquer

When I'm finished rockin' you're jockin' for an encore

My masterpieces will smash to pieces

Or should I say demo, the mass that reaches

You better take a bufferin' with sufferin' from

The wrath of the style that can't be outdone

It's like that y'all, 'cause I'm the ultimate

Yo, Tony Rock, take the stand 'cause I'm about to sit!

Verse 2: Tony Rock

MC's up north, and niggas like Spike take shorts

Thinkin' that the only rappers live in New York

Dick-heads like you, they don't know the deal

Sayin' if it's not from up there, it can't be real

But since you're ignorant and stupid at best,

I'll have to break this down from the simplest

See Tony Rock make a microphone check

Now see him on stage breakin' a sucka nigga's neck

Y'all takin' rap back? Get off of that cake!

The only thing you might be able to take is this dick

Sayin' weak-ass rhymes on records and video

Grabbin' on the dick and start cursin', and even though

You front to be hard while the cameras start shootin'

Knowin' goody-damn well that you as soft as a fig newton

If we was cars, I'd be a Porsche and you, a Nova

On card games, you're Pitty-pat and I'm Poker

I grab the microphone 'cause I can't wait to smoke a,

Sucka like you, you no-rhymin' joker

Steppin' on stage, and goin' into fits

Workin' up a sweat, but you ain't rockin' shit

Sayin' weak-ass rhymes, tryin' your best to work the fans up

Why don't you drop the microphone and come out with your hands up?

Just because you're from up there, you ain't got it like that

Boy, you could be killed, and you don't want that

I'm sayin' rhymes on a funky-ass cut

Marquis, go for yours, because I got MY nut!

Verse 3: Brother Marquis

I treat rappers like hoes, roll 'em like vogues

Count 'em and fold 'em and stuff and stack 'em like bank-rolls

I'm never on the runnin', MC's confronted

Always in my face, wantin' to start somethin'

I can't keep silent 'cause I'm lyrically violent

Step to me, boy, step off, don't even try it

I giddy up and go, so smooth when I flow

I make suckas get goin' like a 5.0

Ya see, I'll massacre, sit back and laught at ya,

And when you're finished, then I'll embarrass ya

I'm the aggressor, the professor

(I injure/I'll end ya) like a ninja with a lyrical lecture

Marquis gets silky as I recite 'em

Rappers are germs, I'm peroxide to fight 'em

I blitz, throwin' hits that'll put you in a coffin

Treat you like an orphan, causing you to soften

People say I'm immaculent, but I'm past that

Others get laughed at, 'cause they ain't half that

They try to achieve, but can't succeed

They only get stomped on when I stampede

It's like that, punks, and you all know

Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, continue to flow!

Verse 4: Debonaire

Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, is last on the agenda

Talkin' 'bout how brothers constantly pretend to

Be from up North, New York, yeah, Medina

The grass ain't greener! I guess they never seen a

Rapper from another region gettin' the loot

I'm from the bottom, and got girls feedin' me fruit

And droppin' flowers every time I walk

Is my music identical to that of New York?

It's original, comin' from the bottom, analyze it

You could come off on your own, but no one tries it

They'd rather have some sloppy jalopy

And get called a wanna-be because they try to copy

But see, the boys, we just laugh

Ain't a counterfeit rapper on the Skyywalker staff!

And so the wanna-be's bite the dust

They ain't certified to rap beside none of us!

And 'cause I'm strictly B-U-S-I-N-E-double S

They panickin', stiff like manequins from all the stress

No one there to mend; they look soft

Anyway, I'm outta here, signin' the fuck off!