If you can’t stand the heat, get outta the kitchen
I guarantee you MC Lyte wouldn’ta been caught bitchin
or slammin my rhymes ‘cause you jealous a my speed
it’s a fact indeed, or maybe just a rash that need itchin

yo lacklusta lines ‘bout as tiresome as Busta Rhymes
join forces and you could be Mr. and Mrs. Smith - now that’s a sad sign of our troubled times
give this rappin jack a trike and forthwith I’ll make ya wish
your bike had four wheels so it wasn’t just yo a$$ that go ‘swish’

next time you frontin, keep in mind who’s really got the trunk a funk an’
maximum endurance to always stay at the front an’
legs like Boonen, why the betties be swoonin an’
why I straight rock this battle all the way to the grandstand

they ain’t no denyin, you might as well stop tryin like you ill
but I know like Sisyphus you’ll still keep tryin to roll that rock up this hill
if you expect this MC to slow my beats and take a chill pill
I’ma have to say “Ohh Nooo!” like my man Mr. Bill