Intro/Chorus: repeat 4X
Who you won test, me have a champion style
Verse One:
Meet the mic controller, the Philly roller, the wicked one
Sun rude bwoy come rhymes off top the head
Said what I said and did what I did
Never catch another bid, create rubbers and slid
I'm out of there, ghost evaporate vanish
Callate la voca if need be I'm Spanish
No habla ingles, police ask questions
I don't know nuttin, ain't nuttin happening, stop stressing
I'm headed down the alleyway
With the Smith on my hip, shank in my hand, who's the man
You won test, who me?
I think you better back up and chill, G
Don't make me mad boy, don't even try
Eyah got skills, eyah smoke mad thai
You steppin to a brother who been through it all
My freestyle is wild you nah won test my yes y'all
You think you got flavor to match?
You can get a smack for that, black
Chorus
Verse Two:
Nobody can do it
You runnin out of gas Sun, leakin much fluid
I'm hungry like Jack two inches away from a Big Mac
then BUCK BUCK BUCK
Take that witcha on the way down, so you don't feel the ground
when you hit, and your head splits, f*** all that bullshit
It's hectic, respect it, the dialect, I come
original, the intellect, refuses to tongue twist
So don't tell me naythan
Me have a champion style, hardcore with a taste of Jamaican
You steppin to the wrong one the Nine is the seed of Jesus
I get loose on ninety proof
Fatter than a bubble goose, unpredictable
you never know what I'm going to say after I say
what I say when I say what I say when I play, next?!?
There it is, who you won test
Interlude:
The deceased resented the fact, and told him off in no uncertain terms
He still kept coming, he identified himself, and then drew his revolver
Chorus
Verse Three:
Cream of the crop nonstop hip-hop
Funky stuff rough enough to, break up the handcuffs
Scuff a cream puff like an old pair of boots
When the Nine millimeter shoots the gift I was born with
Who's that, with the b***y trap, poisoning rap
with the wack bullcrap, we can't have that
Shut him down, I'm underground
and if my sound hits the airwaves of pop, it'll still be hip-hop
No samples from Barry Manilow
Strictly Timbo, you know, the whole 40 below
That's how I'm rollin in the Nines
Nine-Five, Nine-Six, Nine-Seven to get mines
Outro:
Yeah I'm sending this out to all you bigmouth
knucklehead suckers that was talkin all that garbage
I am the man, who you won test, punk?
Who you won test, me have a champion style
Verse One:
Meet the mic controller, the Philly roller, the wicked one
Sun rude bwoy come rhymes off top the head
Said what I said and did what I did
Never catch another bid, create rubbers and slid
I'm out of there, ghost evaporate vanish
Callate la voca if need be I'm Spanish
No habla ingles, police ask questions
I don't know nuttin, ain't nuttin happening, stop stressing
I'm headed down the alleyway
With the Smith on my hip, shank in my hand, who's the man
You won test, who me?
I think you better back up and chill, G
Don't make me mad boy, don't even try
Eyah got skills, eyah smoke mad thai
You steppin to a brother who been through it all
My freestyle is wild you nah won test my yes y'all
You think you got flavor to match?
You can get a smack for that, black
Chorus
Verse Two:
Nobody can do it
You runnin out of gas Sun, leakin much fluid
I'm hungry like Jack two inches away from a Big Mac
then BUCK BUCK BUCK
Take that witcha on the way down, so you don't feel the ground
when you hit, and your head splits, f*** all that bullshit
It's hectic, respect it, the dialect, I come
original, the intellect, refuses to tongue twist
So don't tell me naythan
Me have a champion style, hardcore with a taste of Jamaican
You steppin to the wrong one the Nine is the seed of Jesus
I get loose on ninety proof
Fatter than a bubble goose, unpredictable
you never know what I'm going to say after I say
what I say when I say what I say when I play, next?!?
There it is, who you won test
Interlude:
The deceased resented the fact, and told him off in no uncertain terms
He still kept coming, he identified himself, and then drew his revolver
Chorus
Verse Three:
Cream of the crop nonstop hip-hop
Funky stuff rough enough to, break up the handcuffs
Scuff a cream puff like an old pair of boots
When the Nine millimeter shoots the gift I was born with
Who's that, with the b***y trap, poisoning rap
with the wack bullcrap, we can't have that
Shut him down, I'm underground
and if my sound hits the airwaves of pop, it'll still be hip-hop
No samples from Barry Manilow
Strictly Timbo, you know, the whole 40 below
That's how I'm rollin in the Nines
Nine-Five, Nine-Six, Nine-Seven to get mines
Outro:
Yeah I'm sending this out to all you bigmouth
knucklehead suckers that was talkin all that garbage
I am the man, who you won test, punk?