[Intro]

This motherfucker, man

Just won't shut up, will you?

Talkin' 'bout I owe him

Bitch, you owe me

I'm promotin' you right now

Yo, let's put the nail in this coffin

[Chorus]

I don't wanna be like this

I don't really wanna hurt no feelings

But I'm only being real when I say

”Nobody wants to hear their grandfather rap“ (Nope)

And old men have heart attacks

And I don't wanna be responsible for that

So, put the mic down and walk away

You can still have a little bit of dignity

[Verse]

I would never claim to be no

Ray Benzino

An eighty-three-year-old fake Pacino

So how can he hold me over some balcony without throwin' his lower back out as soon as he goes to lift me? (Ugh)

Please, don't, you'll probably fall with me and our asses'll both be history (Aah)

But, then again, you'd finally get your wish

‘Cause you'd be all over the street like 50 Cent (Ha-ha-ha-ha)

You're fuckin' punk, pussy, fuck you, chump

Give me a one-on-one, see, if I don't fuck you up,

Tryna jump the Ruff Ryders and they cut you up

And you put Jada on a track, that's how much you suck

Dick in the industry, swear that you in the streets hustlin'

You sit behind a fuckin' desk at The Source, butt-kissin'

And beggin' motherfuckers for guest appearances

And you can't even get the clearances

'Cause real lyricists don't even respect you or take you serious

It's not that we don't like you, we hate you, period

Talk about a mid-life crisis, damn

Last week you was shakin' Obie Trice's hand

Now he's a buster? What the fuck's with that?

Get on a track, dissin' us, kissin' 50's ass

And askin' me what I know about indictments, bite me

Bitch, I got two cases and probation, fight me

What do I know about standin' in front of a judge like a man

Ready to take whatever sentence he hands?

What you know about your wife slicin' her wrists, right in

Front of the only thing that you have in this world, a little girl?

And I put that on her, when this is all over

I would never try to make her a star and eat off her

I don't know shit about no choppin' rocks

But what you know about Hip Hop Shops rockin' spots

Where you're the only white boy up in that bitch, just rippin'?

Pressin' up your own fliers and your stickers, stickin'

Them bitches up after spendin' six hours at Kinko's

Makin' copies of your covers of cassette singles

To sell them out of the trunk of your Tracer

Spendin' your whole paychecks at Disc Makers

What you know about bein' bullied over half your life?

Oh, that's right, you should know what that's like—you're half white (Ha-ha)

Vanilla Ice, spill the beans and rice

I'm eatin' you alive inside, Jesus Christ

If you're that much of a gangsta, put the mic down

You should be out killin' motherfuckers right now

Kill a motherfucker dead, kill him dead, bitch

Shoot 'em in the fuckin' head, go ahead, bitch

Slap my mom, slap the fuck out of her

She can't sue you, she wouldn't get a buck out of ya

‘Cause you're broke as fuck, you suck, you're a fuckin' joke

If you was really sellin' coke, well, then what the fuck

You stop for, dummy? If you slew some crack

You'd make a lot more money than you do from rap (Ha-ha)

You'll never have no security, you'll never be famous

You'll never know what it's like to be rich, life's a bitch, ain't it? Raymond?

Here, let me break this shit down in layman's terms for you

Just to make sure that you can understand us

And Canibus ain't usin' too many complicated fuckin' words for you

Here, and let me slow it down for you

So that you can understand if I say it slower

Let it go, dog, it's over

[Chorus]

I don't wanna be like this

I don't really wanna hurt no feelings

But I'm only being real when I say

”Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap“ (Uh-uh)

And old men have heart attacks

And I don't wanna be responsible for that

So, put the mic down and walk away

You can still have a little bit of dignity

[Outro]

Ha-ha, talkin' 'bout, I have motherfuckers callin' your crib

Bitch, you ain't even got a fuckin' crib

You ain't even got a fuckin' phone fuckin' bum

Threatenin' to shut me down at your li-l' fuckin' Source magazine if I come back on you and attack you

Bitch, you attacked me first, take it like a man, and shut the fuck up

And fuck your little magazine too

I don't need your little fuckin' magazine

I got XXL's number anyways

And y'all can't stand it ‘cause they gettin' bigger than y'all

Oh, and, by the way, how'd I look on the VMAs?

When you was watchin' me from

Whatever fuckin' TV he was watchin' me from

In Boston, the mean streets of Boston

Fuckin' sissy

Think you got us scared up in here, motherfucker?

Suck our motherfuckin' dicks

Oh

And for those that don't know

Don't get it twisted y'all

The Source has a white owner