You thought I was behind you, I'm clever, you dumb
Hey there, looking for me? I'm ahead of you son
How I'm looking out there? Incredible, huh?
I'm turning down record deals, you begging for one
Sometimes I talk to myself, like nigga you slum
All this crack now is a wrap, instead of them drums
You'ze on the mixtapes, with several bums
Everyone of em fell off, except for you son
They say it wasn't competition, you better than em
I ain't a rocket scientist, but I'm guessing you won
Producers go get a sample, and a few drums
They say they want 50 thousands, where the hell is you from?
Mars, Jupiter, Neptune, wherever you from
I'm from a place called earth, and we deadin you son
Magazines say: did you ever sell a few guns?
None of your goddamn bussiness, that's federal son.
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