It's round one, dedication, hard work, prayers and belief, and a good team Back up on that ass, back to put rappers on one knee Like they bout to run a hundred meter dash Bow down to greatness, before I get pissed Then run up in the stands like the Indiana Pacers Covered all my bases, straight, no chases Diamonds on my chain look like my neck's full of glazes Titanic flow, Titanic dough Women on my nuts like, where did Titanic go? I've been scouring the earth Making my fans catch the Holy Ghost at my shows Like your grandma in church and the fat lady singing It's over for you rappers, can't none of y'all bust You're just sacks full of semen, and I got the women screaming They could catch my balls on any given Sunday Like my name's Willie Beeman, or LL Cool Your boyfriend thinks you loyal to his ass and he's a mother*** fool Got jewels on my panky, jewels on my wrist Iconic status and his name is Ludacris, bitch please You messing with some real OGs With million dollar whips that I ship from overseas Got a pocket full of cheese And the inconvenient truth is that the ozone is bad Cause I've been smoking all the trees The globe is warming up when we fire up the blunt And put it in the air like Evel Knievel stunts What you want from me? I got pistols for the haters Your family being black like they was playing for the Raiders And your music isn't favored, and DJs they never bring it back Like when you go and borrow something from your neighbors Like a cup full of sugar, a road full of salt The name on my car insurance is your *** fault And if you sitting on chrome, I'll call up my boys And have you stripped of your medals like Marion Jones, nigga Chip, you got it, keep on moving They ain't got nothing on you Watch for the sneak dissing These boys will smile in your face and stab you right in the back Breathe, take some water This is money in the bank They defeating themselves, Chip You know what you can do, you looted You looking good, let's go Come on, baby, hard work and dedication You know what it is, man Back up on the scene Back to put a nail in these rappers' coffins I got the hammer in my jeans Call me Mr. Fix-It Hotter than a fresh batch of homemade buttermilk biscuits A tisket, a tasket, a custom-made casket Luda leaves intruders stretched out like gymnastics And acrobatics, I'm superstar status The mouth for the self like gangster grills, you bastards The international traveler And I may not be much to you But I'm the *** out in Africa So put your fists up Even the Statue of Liberty lit aflame For the way that I lift my wrist up You can't compete with me I got them stuck like I made a thousand rappers Put shackles on their feet with me And then I broke free I'll let them loose when Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston become drug-free I'm the baddest, mother, shut it like Staph was Leaving rappers with headaches like bad drugs They should've warned you You got defeated by the heat But then we'll just say we Alonzo Mornja So call the coroner I'll show up to your funeral with some gators Like I'm fresh out of Florida Call me the Swamp Thing Y'all headed in the wrong direction Like you hit the subway and caught the wrong train So don't *** with it I'm sending lyrical bullets right at your dome *** niggas better duck with it Or else you're stuck with it You'll get stomped so bad you'll leave the scene Thinking eight young bucks did it But not in Cacheville You lost your feeling like coming down on X Chasing effects of your last pill You're *** Daffy Dill You's a Daffy Duck Y'all niggas suck Undisputed What? Who wants some? I wish a mother***er would