Now check it (sup, guy?)
Let me set the mood here, aight? (Yeah, aight, cool)
We gonna set it off with Indeed, you know (yeah, that's right) (ah, man)
Ladies first and all that good shit (whatever)
That's right ladies first (aight, you got it, you got it, you got it)
So peep it, you see this girl
Who been poppin' mad shit about you (uh-huh)
So I want you to get into it a little bit
I want you to crush that ho in her grip

I was sittin' on my lunchbreak, grittin' my teeth
It's the last day of the week, man. What a relief
My arms are sore as hell, I felt rigid and stiff
So I turned around and I rolled this big, fat spliff
That's when I seen her, steppin out a rented yellow Beemer
This local ghetto fame rap cat, her name was Tina
She was braggin' she was goin' on tour
The same shit she was screamin' since the year before
Ever since the De La Soul video, she seen me on the TV
Heard that she was holdin' a grudge and tryin' to see me
Workin' underground circuits and mad cyphers of people
When she asked who was ill, all she got was Indeed
She want to battle (what?) And it wasn't hard to tell
All that I was thinkin' 'bout was tryin to smoke my L
I had four hours left and I was tired as hell
Plus it was 12:55, almost time for the bell
She had an ill screwface mug, frontin' like she know Joe
Gangsta bitch profile, boppin' like allegro
Forty-below Timbos, fatigues saggin'
Pullin all her money out her pocket while she's braggin'
On her gold fronts with her name on it
Her ice finger roll hand glow while she claim fame on it
I peeped the steeze then I crushed her with ease
Just for interruptin' me while I was rollin' my trees

Aight (woo, that was hot)
That shit was blaze (word)
Now we gon' set this one up
For my man Mercenary (aight, aright, yeah, let's do this)
Yo (what's up?)
I don't want you to make it like a story or nothin' (aight)
I just want you to come on some straight rhyme shit (alright, no problem)
Rip a nigga in his ass and let him know how we do it

Now Maseo puff cheeba, while Rich sniff lines
David J push the whip while Candy Cal pull dimes
And me right behind, with the shorty gettin' her math
To do the savior routine and just tap that ass
Still the one who kill wackness, man, I left them niggas crippled
Had 'em all soft to hard back to soft like a nipple
My art is official while you're artificial
Break you down to your very last participle
Let me enlighten you 'cause your third eye's on dim
Me gettin' taken out is rare like a smile from Rakim
See I'm remarkable, you're just bull
Last name shit, y'all niggas need to quit
Open your mitt and catch this
I autograph every word you bit
Kept five and take a picture
Got an infinity of non-rhymes to hit ya
While your whole plan is bland
Understand that you must be smokin' pounds of weed out of a pipe
And mistook your munchies for bein' hungry for the mic
And now you have to deal with these cats who's truly real
Like estates with a Pit on the lawn bark at the gates
Put the whole entire plate in your face
Make the point like who's that on that joint? It's me
I'm in everything you see like cran', yo, I'm in demand
I'm in the club, man, I'm in your hand
Bein bought, I'm even in the thought from your girl
The only thing you're in is inactive
Your world'll be smashed
Run against the Won and you'll be last
Like that call for alcohol, depletin' your cash

That's how you supposed to get in somebody ass
You know I'm sayin'?
Know dat

Still not convinced about Ghost Weed?
Well, check this out

(Even if you hit that it ain't gon' matter) yo, I'm sayin'
Oh, yeah? Aight, yo, I could do anybody, it don't- (Ghost Weed)
(Yo, do one of them Tribe niggas) yo, listen
Name somebody, I bet you (somebody do Lil Wayne)
Phife
Phife Dawg (nah, do Tip) (yo)
I sound just like him (what? He ill)
Phife Dawg, watch
Alright, I'm 'bout to do this (yo, whatever, whatever)
Just show me, alright? Just show me
I'm just, I'll show you somethin' else too (ooh)
But right now I'm 'bout to show you Phife, ya heard?
Alright, here we go (you know what just, just somebody hit the beat)

L-Y-R to the I-C-S (what?)
Niggas still fussin' 'bout who be the best
When Diggy Dawg bounce through, I put all that to rest (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Anyone try test, I put two in they chest
Quest or no Quest I leave venues a mess (he kinda sound like him, B)
Don't ask me to collab, me and you don't mesh (he sound like him to me)
I stay fresh from the flesh (you buggin', yo, he sound just like him)
Never front in a vest
In the name of J Christ all mics'll get blessed
Peep how I posses flavor, style, finesse (what?)
Microphone, honeys, two things I caress (go, Phife)
To all you fake jiggy niggas, still not impressed (uh, uh)
Queens, I rep it to the fully
You think I own the Mets

What? You know I'm Phife (yeah)
Phife, nigga, what? (You still shoulda tried Tip)
See, you know, you know how I knew you ain't Phife? (What?)
'Cause you would said, "I own the Knicks" or something
(Word, that cat would say something like that)
Listen, man, I'm saying it's sports, it's sports
I'm just doing, I'm saying (slow down) (your shit is wack, yo)
It don't matter, that's not the point (imposter, yo)
I sound like Phife

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Acklins Dillon, David Jolicoeur, Kelvin Mercer, Ken Bozeman, Vincent Mason