First of all I start with a paper and a pencil

And write rhymes that will rape your mental

Words and metaphors are essential

Stay original, that's hip-hop credential

Paint your own picture and never use a stencil

Frame be 3D with nine thousand pixels

Words stay concealed like pistols

With a yearly subscription to a magazine with twelve issues

I will verbally shatter your self-esteem, me, self and team

Lyrics so hot that would melt your spleen

Mentally an outcast, so fresh and so clean

There's more to hip-hop than platinum and rocks that gleam

Timbs and baggy jeans

My lyrics is food for your soul like rice and beans

Verbal transmission running on Valvoline

Five eight but still tap-a-rine

Daily contestants become casualties

I do this for the love, not for the salary

Equipped with adapters, while others want a battery

Verse spill faster than a assembly line at factory

Late Bar Funk the faculty

Be a rap fanatic, Afro classic, step and you get damaged

With punchlines that knock your frame off balance

Grip mics and hands calloused

With Scarip, my brethren, we living legends

I got the most out, So Cal vocals

After hearing now, you should know the profile

I'm universal, not limited local

Call me professional, you ain't gotta ask how

Au naturel, swifter than your speed dial

I'm even quicker connecting with my people

From individuals, outcasts to in-crowds

Where it might be "Hello, what's crackin'?" or even "Hey now"

I only crawl out of my hole every now and then

Just to get a glimpse of light and hear the record spin

A cup of coffee and a blunt is how my day begin

In the presence of folks, I give 'em salutation

Leaving room for clarity, come for creation

Living day to day fighting, trying to stay patient

Not one to sit on my ass, time wasting

Catch me cloud chasing, you witnessing history in the making

Now may I, kick a little something for the b-boys

B-girls and listeners of this music

Kicking nothing short of cold classic shit

Now I just be casting my raps, you know, fishing around

'Til my hook gets caught in their mouth

But see once they bite I begin reeling 'em in

With a fisherman's grin

But they have no idea what's coming about

Yo, look

I backpack it throughout the maps, braggarts, the squash maggots

Who swear they fly but can't elevate their MCing

I tackle 'em, like a football team playing

Smeared with queer while the ball's in the hands of a drag queen

On any given Sunday, through semi-irony consists of groove

Like needles on records, I microphone check it

Spit that kamikaze kind of do or die hard as hell

Yeah, that's the shit you came for

Pure type of hip-hop jargon, you dig

I don't stop perfecting my sound

I rock with the earth, wind, fire and water

To replenish the body after the showdown

Underground, low-down and dirty

South Central soliloquy

That's why you feeling me, raw energy, genuine

Every time my words intertwine over rhythm

My rhymes will blow your mind

You know fo' sho' I shine when handling mine

On Wednesday, Sunday afternoons or prime time on the Frontline

But see, I just be casting my raps, you know, fishing around

'Til my hook gets caught in your mouth

But once you bite I begin reeling you in

With a fisherman's grin

I know you know what I'm talking about