[Intro: Father Amde Hamilton (Sample)]
I'll stop calling you niggers
When you start actin' like black men
My fellow poets tell me not to write poems talkin' bad about black folk
But I ain't mad at whitey
I'm mad at you, ya low down n***as!
Crossing out each other constantly
Talkin’ about “brotha” this and “whitey” that
You low down lames, it takes two to play a game!
Y’all claim to be so hip and all that shit
Playin’ tough but the n***as ain’t really rough
CREAM PUFFS is a better word than tough!
Y’all better get hip and come off this trip
Wit’ y’all under-killin’ asses!

[Bridge]
Coming through! So over, you can't really see
Why you askin' me? When you back to, reality

[Verse: Madlib & (Quasimoto)]
I keep it real, you droppin' shit like it's sloppy
(Meanwhile), my shit open you up like an autopsy
I never throw my shit upon the floppy
Unless I'm in a battle with some n***as tryna top me
(N***as get frustrated?)
N***as try, but never stop me (How you do?)
I be straight playin' the humble way, y'all n***as actin' cocky
I see the fry, y'all like some could-be-jockeys
Reality check like 360 'round in circles
Everything that comes around goes back around for a purpose
Like when you split the lip service
Y'all n***as need to be smacked worthless
[Outro]
Talkin' shit?
Tal— Talkin' sh—
Tal— Talkin' sh—
Tal— Talkin' shit? You better watch out, you'll be walkin' he—
Talkin' shit? You better watch out, you'll be walkin' he—
Comin' through! Comin'— Comin' through!
Comin' through! Com— Comin' through!
Comin' through! So— so— so—
Comin' through! So—
So over, you can't really see
Why you askin' me? When you back to, reality