I scored 1.1 on my S.A.T.
And still push a whip with a right and left A.C
Seven lyrics, no interviews. Confidence and wit are tied at 5 lines each. Can't Wait supplies two lines, with Pick It Up, Da Funk, Blackout! and Cosmic Slop adding one each, plus a line from a Method Man collaboration. The jokes are street-smart and deadpan: scoring 1.1 on the S.A.T. and still pushing a whip, a rival whose vocabulary is played out, and the advice, on a cold world, that you "better pack your own heat".
It's a cold world, better pack your own heat
The Funkadelic, been rockin' mics since the fourth grade
I Terminate like X and I Terminate like Schwarzeneg'
Switchin' speeds like Bruce Lee ridin' a Fuji in a movie
I'm like an eclipse on a Friday, the 13th
With black cats and Haley's Comet, blazin blunts in my driveway
Ever since three, I cut throats of emcees
Mediocre lyricist who burnt with degrees
Your whole vocabulary's played out, admit it
Still whack if it came out my mouth and I spit it (Get on down)