Check it, it ain't nothing you can gain from it
(It's the Funky Man) And ain't a damn thing changed, money
I lounge on the downlow
MC's be fronting like they funky but they can't fukk around though
nikkas I spare none, I never shoot a fair one
And I write rhymes more than bytches get their hair done
My shyt's butter, word to mother
Rhyme with the mic in one hand and hold my dikk with the other
(Finesse is the man) Yeah, how'd you know?
Cause my style of flow is smoother than Al Jarreau
I'm no joke with the fast or small raps
Me and Diamond go back like mock necks and overlaps
So by now you gots to figure
I'm not the best motherfukker but I'm better than a lot of nikkas
And in a battle you can pick the winner
The way I drop heavy shyt you'd think I ate grits for dinner
You want to bet? Then call your bookie
Cause I'm breaking nikkas up like motherfukking fortune cookies
Check it out while I play the post
And say peace on out, I'll catch you folks on a later note