Sick skillin'
Like a villain
Inkin like a saint
For the ***** I be fillin'
My style you just can't taint
I'll tear out ya tibia
Ya fibia
I'm sick of ya
I'll leave you lying ****** muddy
In the streets of lybia
Hungry mother *******
have no trouble getting rid of ya
And if your country had of loved you
Then they would of hidden ya
Before I had a son
I woulda grabbed a gun
Put it to my head
And chased myself to the other side of a darker place
But then I see his face
Reminds that I gotta be a member of the human race
And to find my place
Keep him right so he don't fall from grace