Check it out now, hey, hey, true style's hard to find.

I'm sick, real ripped sick, it's time to go for mine.

See, I remain unfazed with shit so funky.

You combine for days, my shit remains crunchy.

Good with my own style, dropping that.

Look, you lose all hooking, but I'm stopping that.

Use a cut copycat.

Now watch me take you through the hell, my spiel.

Looking for fighters in the big, bad realm.

I am the one to take you higher.

Delinquentization, heart and desire.

Go ahead and light the fire.

As I get smoked, there ain't no way to stop the madness when I go for broke.

You must be kidding me.

You're the epitome of no identity.

It's about what you say and how you say it.

Now that's hardcore.

Time to settle the score.

I'm fed up with the bullshit.

Give me some new shit.

I won't slip.

Get off my dick.

You see, I'm tired of these imitating gangster clones.

For them, I got a slingshot.

I'm stepping on the scene.

My delinquent team for here to elevate.

Keeping it fake should be the slogan.

Ripping up your flame.

It's the critical acclaim.

Breaking you up like the green.

They can't trace my brain.

The thick of B only won't snoop.

Only one rule, but the come new.

With a steelo that's new.

Yet some won't look the way I strangled the mic, though.

I won't front the cat.

I can't fake the Gambino.

You must be kidding me.

It's a joke, right?

You gotta be kidding me.

We going nowhere fast in this flavorless mess hall.

I can't stand tall because I heard a distress call.

kidding me you're the epitome of no identity it's about what you say and how you say it

Now that's hardcore, time to settle the score.

I said, kid, you must be kidding me.

You're the epitome of no identity.

It's about what you say and how you say it.

Now that's hardcore.

Time to settle the score.

Once again, I gon' fly through the speaker, your style sucked the fuck up like a tweaker.

One grain falls, the rest soon follow, cause everybody knows your whack style's borrowed.

It seems everybody right there, yo, shit killers.

Everybody's peeping big time, don't deal us.

And Gucci rollin' big time, little chick, throw shit big.

Papa said he shoutin' about the real.

Damn, now look what I've done with a little bit of love from the rhymes I brung.

You know who you are, don't front the shoe, bitch.

That link with this in the hay of the rock.

I don't know what band that is.

It's about what you say and how you say it.

Now that's hardcore.

Time to settle the score.

I said, kid.

You must be kidding me.

You're the epitome.

You have no identity.

It's about what you say.

And how you say it Now that's hardcore Time to settle the score

You can watch.

Text

You've got no identity.

Step into the ground.