I may drop the illest rhymes, yo,
but I ain't got nowhere to scratch 'em.
So all you pros look to the Squizzel Neck,
cause that's what they call me.
I rap about all the dopest coin flips
that all you shuttlecockin' sons of honkies have ever seen.
I let my mind fly to phattest hoods,
skankin' from the East side to the West side.
Sure, I didn't grow up on the streets;
sure, I never been a gangsta;
that ain't crampin' what I do.
I'm all about what I represent, yo.
I got a turn table for Christmas,
so I always have the beats provided.
Me and my dawg DJ Tube Top make magic nightly.
Ain't nobody ever seen what we put out.
Drinkin', pimpin', smokin',
trouble from the law,
trouble from my dad,
I got the knobs to cover everything.
I been told my rhymes are like frozen time,
I clock everything just the way it is.
Ain't no censors gonna stop me.
I'm like a jaywalker; I'm causin' so many beeps.
I wear the dopest bling, drive the dopest cars, and mack the finest boos.
I rock a shoe on my left hand.
That's my trademark, yo.
All the peeps'll be doin' it soon enough.
So here I am;
watchin' clips of Diddy on my IPod,
waitin' for my cell phone to ring.
So send me a buzz, America.
Squizzel Neck out.
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