[Intro: King Just] Niggas can't see me, if I was in color on TV Or BET, in 3D, you see us, but you can't be us
[Chorus 2X: King Just] Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us But trust, none of them can fuck with King Just Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us But trust, none of them can fuck with (say what?)
[King Just] Leave my name out your mouth if you don't fucking like me If Roy Jones was your trainer, yo, you couldn't fight me Your idle threats and your bigets, don't excite me You couldn't 'violate', even if your name was Chris Lighty Now most likely, you 'do the right thing' like Spike Lee Before I 'swish' on your face, like I was Nike Try me, niggas want beef, and bring salami Like they 'on point', like Omni Calm as pot on Fonzi, don't give a fuck about your army Turn your 2Pac rappers all into Gandhi's Zombies; Return of the Living Dead, code red Heavy shooting lyrics, without, no, lead Fed like a federali, let me catch you in the alley Stomp you out with your own Balley's Sally from the valley, yeah I bun that broad While you seeder her up, and married a whore You should of seen her on the tour bus, tattoo; King Just The good thing though, the hoe fucked all of us Plus she brought her friends along, in they thongs And a half of pound of weed of Mr. Choke Armstrong
[Chorus 2X]
[King Just] Immitator, see me now, but see me later Your raps is like a DJ, without a cross fader You Public Enemy #1, with no 'Flavor' It's like Darth Vader without his light saber Major, man, I ain't even signed yet And you like 'damn, how a nigga rhyme like that?' Bring it back, copycats, your shit is wack You can't even pay me to get on the same track Perhaps, if it was a battle, God Then I get on and embarass your ass, free of charge Your squad, bring 'em, they all sound alike But I'm a Chuck D fan, so I 'don't believe the hype', right It's on tonight, mark my word, on the curb Rolling some herb, talking to your bird And polly want a cracker, so I crack her Took her virginity, and never gave it back to her Now ain't that a crimey, grimey, slimey, rhymey Whiny... all on her hiney Find me, where ya'll niggas won't be Do you, and stop trynna do me...
[Chorus]
[King Just] And it only takes ten, to destroy you and your men Mr. Choke Back Strokes, same results in the end You can swim low, or sky dive high, against me In my prime, Optimus Shine, the proof be the bottom line Fine as wine, get to the point like a porcupine Throwing gang signs, slinging dimes in my spare time Crime doesn't pay, as far as they say Shit, let me tell it, I got paid every day Which way, the mix DJ, he play what I play Most rappers can't rap, so they say what I say How you gon' lie and, try to deny It's the art of dart throwing, King... *bing bing* bullseye No guy can stop the storm, you've been warned Edward Scissorhand'll make mics out of your lawn And perform in your grasp, showing my ass With a stink attitude like a nigga passed gas Mad cuz you ain't heard it, you don't word it how I word it You just bite it, and then rehearse it The worse is, you got niggas catching on Trying to do songs that's all wrong, sing along
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Copy to Clipboard: [Intro: King Just] Niggas can't see me, if I was in color on TV Or BET, in 3D, you see us, but you can't be us
[Chorus 2X: King Just] Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us But trust, none of them can fuck with King Just Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us But trust, none of them can fuck with (say what?)
[King Just] Leave my name out your mouth if you don't fucking like me If Roy Jones was your trainer, yo, you couldn't fight me Your idle threats and your bigets, don't excite me You couldn't 'violate', even if your name was Chris Lighty Now most likely, you 'do the right thing' like Spike Lee Before I 'swish' on your face, like I was Nike Try me, niggas want beef, and bring salami Like they 'on point', like Omni Calm as pot on Fonzi, don't give a fuck about your army Turn your 2Pac rappers all into Gandhi's Zombies; Return of the Living Dead, code red Heavy shooting lyrics, without, no, lead Fed like a federali, let me catch you in the alley Stomp you out with your own Balley's Sally from the valley, yeah I bun that broad While you seeder her up, and married a whore You should of seen her on the tour bus, tattoo; King Just The good thing though, the hoe fucked all of us Plus she brought her friends along, in they thongs And a half of pound of weed of Mr. Choke Armstrong
[Chorus 2X]
[King Just] Immitator, see me now, but see me later Your raps is like a DJ, without a cross fader You Public Enemy #1, with no 'Flavor' It's like Darth Vader without his light saber Major, man, I ain't even signed yet And you like 'damn, how a nigga rhyme like that?' Bring it back, copycats, your shit is wack You can't even pay me to get on the same track Perhaps, if it was a battle, God Then I get on and embarass your ass, free of charge Your squad, bring 'em, they all sound alike But I'm a Chuck D fan, so I 'don't believe the hype', right It's on tonight, mark my word, on the curb Rolling some herb, talking to your bird And polly want a cracker, so I crack her Took her virginity, and never gave it back to her Now ain't that a crimey, grimey, slimey, rhymey Whiny... all on her hiney Find me, where ya'll niggas won't be Do you, and stop trynna do me...
[Chorus]
[King Just] And it only takes ten, to destroy you and your men Mr. Choke Back Strokes, same results in the end You can swim low, or sky dive high, against me In my prime, Optimus Shine, the proof be the bottom line Fine as wine, get to the point like a porcupine Throwing gang signs, slinging dimes in my spare time Crime doesn't pay, as far as they say Shit, let me tell it, I got paid every day Which way, the mix DJ, he play what I play Most rappers can't rap, so they say what I say How you gon' lie and, try to deny It's the art of dart throwing, King... *bing bing* bullseye No guy can stop the storm, you've been warned Edward Scissorhand'll make mics out of your lawn And perform in your grasp, showing my ass With a stink attitude like a nigga passed gas Mad cuz you ain't heard it, you don't word it how I word it You just bite it, and then rehearse it The worse is, you got niggas catching on Trying to do songs that's all wrong, sing along
[Chorus 2X]
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