Popular Demand

Yo, the beat hit ‘em in the gut, call it slapboxin’
I spit broken glass, you can call it trash talkin’
My lyrics bang on the block like a rap auction
Do the opposite of front on Grip—back off him
I’m higher than the rocket that astronauts blast off in
A perfect storm of rap, it doesn’t happen that often
Whether hurricane, rain, sleet, snow, I spaz on ‘em
Hang a sucker on the wall, spray my fuckin’ tag on him
What a drag, he’s so bad that I can only bag on him
Heavy flow, lemme drop a fuckin’ bowling bag on ‘em
Any MC who step, yo, we prob’ly smash on him
Get broke, left the show with a body cast on him
Call the coroner, get yourself a body bag from him
It’ll save me the trouble
These lames need to hustle
It’s a struggle in the underground, we may need a shovel
When the flow’s like a hammer
They can’t even touch you
Got a heaven-sent style, so I may be above you
Over your head, like I was floatin’ eight feet above you
Bringin’ greatness to my state
If you ain’t see then fuck you
I’m an animal, an ape-man, the king of the jungle
Rhymin’ on beats, each and every rhyme I release
Is so dangerous, rappers need to sign a release
I’m on the streets in the form of a man
With the mind of a beast
I eat a rhymer, crack his spine in my teeth
Long live the president
But better yet would be if all of mine were deceased
Money ain’t talkin’ like a mime at a speech
I got a rhyme book that’s bottomless, deep
I told ‘em I was a freak
See a psychiatrist same time every week
And Rec-League came to play, it’s game time every week
Every hour, every minute, every second at least
I’m on the clock steady deliverin’ consecutive heat
Time for some action
I don’t wait for the director to speak
Respect to my team
The microphones a wreckin’ machine
I tear the roof off while you
Poppin’ champagne on some Evelyn King
Well that’s a shame, you should let a young veteran sing
You think you fly? I’ma de-feather your wings
I’m not a puppet, I severed the strings
They say I’m clever with words
I say I’m better at dismemberin’ herbs
I’m out for the cheddar and each and every treasure that I ever deserved
I’m not a customer, I’ll never be served
I’m like a hundred steps ahead of all the suckers so forget ‘em, they scurred
Go back to Kansas or wherever they were
I told ‘em “Don’t quit your day job”
Not sayin’ I work harder than God
But, in the Bible, even God took a day off
Cutbacks and layoffs
They outside the key and couldn’t even get a J off
Assassinate ‘em like 8-Off
So raise off the turf like a plane when it takes off
I ain’t got a hockey mask, I’ll still take your face-off
Your rap needs a map, G, the whole shit is way off
No pay-off, you lost the qualifier, no play-offs
Hey, boss, you tryna beat Grip?
Well, your chances gettin’ slim, bitch, like Kate Moss
Fitness, and weight-loss
I rip this in half and I dip it in steak sauce
Eatin’ up rappers like Pac-Man done ate dots
I told ‘em bounce like a bank shot
I’m real like house shoes and a tank top
You fake like a stage-prop
There ain’t a style that I ain’t got locked
I’m goin’ viral, I hope you got your inbox blocked
‘Cuz every file I attach
Is like an arsonist is lightin’ a match
So many hits, they keep rewritin’ my stats
My shit is dope, and you can smoke it in a pipe
Like it’s crack
You can shoot it in your vein and say you like every track
There’s a computer in my brain that’s from the future and it’s writin’ my rap
So drop the motherfuckin’ mic, ‘cuz I’m back