Verse 1

But for me to rap like a computer it must be in my genes

I got a laptop in my back pocket

My pen'll go off when I half-cock it

Got a fat knot from that rap profit

Made a livin' and a killin' off it

Ever since Bill Clinton was still in office

With Monica Lewinsky feelin' on his nutsack

I'm an MC still as honest

But as rude and as indecent as all hell

Syllables, skill-a-holic (Kill 'em all with)

This flippity dippity-hippity hip-hop

You don't really wanna get into a pissin' match

With this rappity brat, packin' a MAC in the back of the Ac'

Backpack rap crap, yap-yap, yackety-yack

And at the exact same time, I attempt these lyrical acrobat stunts while I'm practicin' that

I'll still be able to break a motherfuckin' table

Over the back of a couple of faggots and crack it in half

Only realized it was ironic, I was signed to Aftermath after the fact

How could I not blow? All I do is drop F-bombs

Feel my wrath of attack

Rappers are havin' a rough time period, here's a maxi pad

It's actually disastrously bad for the wack

While I'm masterfully constructing this masterpièce

Chorus

'Cause I'm beginnin' to feel like a Rap God, Rap God

All my people from the front to the back nod, back nod

Now, who thinks their arms are long enough to slap box, slap box?

Let me show you maintainin' this shit ain't that hard, that hard

Everybody want the key and the secret to rap immortality like I have got