| Uhh, tales of the terrorist |
| Young, black, felonious, red-blooded American |
| Gave this bitch a taste of that lil' boy, she cherished it |
| Fucked her veins up, now she shoot her foot with the heroin |
| Twinkle toes, know single hoes that like to treat they nose |
| Sending muff pics, photos that got they treat exposed |
| I swear you oughta keep your daughter from this dirtbag |
| Dog nigga, scum of the Earth, for what it’s worth |
| I been handling probation well |
| Smoking blunts, 36 months and I ain’t seen the jail |
| Making music that makes a meal, fuck the recognition |
| But I guess my record just too reckless for the record business |
| Won’t sell my soul to chase a check but I be checking niggas |
| Ether them in interviews |
| Industry put lames in the game like Duncan Pinderhughes |
| Think these niggas change they persona, then let you pick and choose |
| Eenie-miney-mo, so don’t try me ho; bitch, I been a fool |
| Psychopathic whoop-ass like Michael daddy |
| Everything that touch my skin brand name, my brand new Caddy |
| Got that pussy-wet paint as I sit on the softest leather |
| I ain’t tripping, joe, my ticket to heaven could cost whatever |
| I just pray the Lord don’t toss me with Satan off in the cheap seats |
| Thought of dying broke with no legacy make my knees weak |
| Cause I proceed to make ends bleed, let it be grisly |
| Getting green by any means out on these mean streets |
| Uhh, tales of the terrorist |
| Felonious, red-blooded American |