Conditioning

You could throw me in a lineup, rough beard

Thick knot and my shines up

Mediterranean bezzle rocks planted like saltines

Worth about 600, 000 in the auction

I still jog in the hills of Brazil

12 eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Sil

He's a prize fighter and me I'm a prize writer

Time ya'll industry niggas recognize fire

Boric acid mixed with ricin

Don't stand under a tree cause my flow is lightning

Some say I should be prosecuted, death by lethal injection

Electrocuted or Malcolm X'd em

Or send a Chinese bitch in the club to stretch em

And if that don't work then it's on to the next one

Beef, we could let it cook fry it to perfection

Got the bulldog snub that'll cave your chest in

Ay, o my moms never knew that she was nursing a wolf

And I wrote this on 9-11 covered in soot

Spitting tobacco out my mouth with Claiborne fatigues

Posted under a Brinks truck, waiting to squeeze

Stay on point like a nose of a marlin, Spartacus brawler

Pressing you pussies in public, nigga, you stalling with

Nowhere to run, faggot, ill grab your ear

My shooting arm stay fresh like a bag of gear

Goose coats yachts diving off of big boats

My bitch pedicured up with a sick throat

So cold making u stutter

I, I, I can't believe Ghost is still gutter

Everywhere I go I'm plugged up

Cohen's optical frames of Breitling, dipped with a crisp cut

See me on a Jackson 5 cover, next to Randy

They had black fros, mines was sandy

Buckwheat Jackson