What is this wackness, fake blackness
I got no choice I’ma have to attack this
caught out before I even got my skinsuit on
and still I’ll relegate you to the arrière of the peloton

Yo line ‘bout lickin suckers?
you musta been listenin to the Lollipop song (again)
all I got to say is that is straight-up wrong -
and your idea of “sucker” is prob’ly T-dub in a thong, friend

Yo rhymes is fallin apart, they all staccato
and still you come out with all that bravado
thinkin you can bring it like Pippo Pozzato
that about as weak as pronouncin tomato “tomahhto”

Ice sick as a dog and still he rock it stone cold
leavin dust in my wake while I shake the fate hatas
(Hell, that never gets OLD - yeah I put that in bold)
time to wind down, and dine downtown
sucka punchin smiley faces ‘til they livin in Frowntown

You want victory but you can’t buy that on layaway
you claim trickery while I drop you on the straightaway
you on a road bike, I on a stolen Huffy, hey!
(and where do you get off draggin G. Peck into the fray?)