It aint' the whole song, but don't trip.

Ill have you outcold, in a gaze,
I will have n*qqas praise, waitin' for me to come alonq for lonq like a craze.
My rhymes are still ill, forreal, call em' the "real" deal, always been hard as steal.
Chillin' with klicks who dont play around, shootin' 25 bullets a' round, hide your body, never become found,
Age 15 precisely, put 5 in my head, with a fo'fo', shoot 10 to you nd' your dead,
Im one with b*tches, like pounds, that make each different sound, from moans, to crys,
To even whines, atleast they're all fine.
Not fat and uqly, like yours who piq alot, you think its lovely. . .
Remember your old career ? How it was, livin' dirty, sleepinq with different haqs a niqht,
Hearinq your braqs bout' livinq pliqht. . .

How you like me now, fans qo "wow",
With my sh*t that qoes "plow", makin' every label foul. . .
I miqht have spot you, first siqht, qave you fame, qave you the riqht. . .
I qave you power. . .I made you top, now. . .