Nail in the Coffin' Testo
Testo Nail in the Coffin'
This motherfucker, man!
Just won't shut up, will you?
Talking 'bout I owe him
Bitch, you owe me!
I'm promotin' you right now
Yo, let's put the nail in his coffin!
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap (nope)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
I would never claim to be no Ray Benzino
An 83-year-old fake Pacino
So how can he hold me over some balcony
Without blowing his lower back out
As soon as he goes to lift me?
Please don't—you'll probably fall with me
And our asses'll both be history
But then again you'd finally get your wish
‘Cause you'll be all over the street, like 50 Cent
Fuckin' punk pussy! Fuck you, chump!
Give me a one-on-one, see if I don't fuck you up
Tried to jump the Ruff Ryders and they cut you up
And you put Jada on a track, that's how much you suck
Dick in the industry, swear that you in the streets hustlin' You sit behind a fuckin' desk at The Source butt-kissin'
And beggin' motherfuckers for guest appearances
And you can't even get the clearances
‘Cause real lyricists don't even respect you or take you serious
It's not that we don't like you—we hate you, period
Talk about a mid-life crisis, damn
Last week you was shakin' Obie Trice's hand
Now he's a buster? What the fuck's with that?
Get on a track dissin' us, kissin' 50's ass
And askin' me what I know about indictments, bite me!
Bitch, I got two cases and probation—fight me!
What do I know about standin' in front of a judge like a man
Ready to take whatever sentence he hands?
What you know about your wife slicin' her wrists, right in front of the only thing you have in this world, a little girl?
And I put that on her, when this is all over
I would never try to make her a star and eat off her
I don't know shit about no choppin' rocks
But what you know about Hip Hop Shops rockin' spots
Where you the only white boy up in that bitch just rippin'?
Pressin' up your own fliers and your stickers, stickin'
Them bitches up after spendin' six hours at Kinko's
Just makin' copies of your covers of cassette singles
To sell them out of the trunk of your Tracer
Spendin' your whole paychecks at Disc Makers
What you know about being bullied over half your life?
Oh, that's right, you should know what that's like
You're half white; Vanilla Ice, spill the beans and rice
I'm eatin' you alive inside, Jesus Christ!
If you're that much of a gangsta, put the mic down!
You should be out killin' motherfuckers right now
Kill a motherfucker dead, kill him dead, bitch!
Shoot 'em in the fuckin' head—go ahead, bitch!
Slap my mom! Slap the fuck out of her!
She can't sue you, she wouldn't get a buck out of ya
‘Cause you're broke as fuck, you suck, you're a fuckin' joke
If you was really sellin' coke, well, then what the fuck
You stop for, dummy? If you slew some crack
You'd make a lot more money than you do from rap
You'll never have no security, you'll never be famous
You'll never know what it's like to be rich; life's a bitch, ain't it?
Raymond? Here, let me break the shit down in layman's
Terms for you, just to make sure that you can understand it
And Canibus ain't using
Too many complicated fuckin' words for you
Here, let me slow it down for you, so that you could understand if I say it slower… Let it go, dog, it's over
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say
Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap (nope)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
Haha… talking 'bout I have motherfuckers callin' your crib
Bitch, you ain't even got a fuckin' crib!
You ain't even got a fuckin' phone… fuckin' bum!
Threatenin' to shut me down at your lil' fuckin' Source magazine, if I come back on you and attack you
Bitch, you attacked me first!
Take it like a man, and shut the fuck up!
Fuck your little magazine too!
I don't need your little fuckin' magazine
I got XXL's number anyways
And y'all can't stand it, ‘cause they gettin' bigger than y'all
Oh, and by the way, how'd I look on the VMA's?
When you was watchin' me
From whatever fuckin' TV you was watchin' me from
From Boston… the mean streets of Boston
Fuckin' sissy! And you got us scared up in here, motherfucker?
Suck our motherfuckin' dicks!
Oh! And for those that don't know
Don't get it twisted, y'all: The Source has a white owner!
Just won't shut up, will you?
Talking 'bout I owe him
Bitch, you owe me!
I'm promotin' you right now
Yo, let's put the nail in his coffin!
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap (nope)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
I would never claim to be no Ray Benzino
An 83-year-old fake Pacino
So how can he hold me over some balcony
Without blowing his lower back out
As soon as he goes to lift me?
Please don't—you'll probably fall with me
And our asses'll both be history
But then again you'd finally get your wish
‘Cause you'll be all over the street, like 50 Cent
Fuckin' punk pussy! Fuck you, chump!
Give me a one-on-one, see if I don't fuck you up
Tried to jump the Ruff Ryders and they cut you up
And you put Jada on a track, that's how much you suck
Dick in the industry, swear that you in the streets hustlin' You sit behind a fuckin' desk at The Source butt-kissin'
And beggin' motherfuckers for guest appearances
And you can't even get the clearances
‘Cause real lyricists don't even respect you or take you serious
It's not that we don't like you—we hate you, period
Talk about a mid-life crisis, damn
Last week you was shakin' Obie Trice's hand
Now he's a buster? What the fuck's with that?
Get on a track dissin' us, kissin' 50's ass
And askin' me what I know about indictments, bite me!
Bitch, I got two cases and probation—fight me!
What do I know about standin' in front of a judge like a man
Ready to take whatever sentence he hands?
What you know about your wife slicin' her wrists, right in front of the only thing you have in this world, a little girl?
And I put that on her, when this is all over
I would never try to make her a star and eat off her
I don't know shit about no choppin' rocks
But what you know about Hip Hop Shops rockin' spots
Where you the only white boy up in that bitch just rippin'?
Pressin' up your own fliers and your stickers, stickin'
Them bitches up after spendin' six hours at Kinko's
Just makin' copies of your covers of cassette singles
To sell them out of the trunk of your Tracer
Spendin' your whole paychecks at Disc Makers
What you know about being bullied over half your life?
Oh, that's right, you should know what that's like
You're half white; Vanilla Ice, spill the beans and rice
I'm eatin' you alive inside, Jesus Christ!
If you're that much of a gangsta, put the mic down!
You should be out killin' motherfuckers right now
Kill a motherfucker dead, kill him dead, bitch!
Shoot 'em in the fuckin' head—go ahead, bitch!
Slap my mom! Slap the fuck out of her!
She can't sue you, she wouldn't get a buck out of ya
‘Cause you're broke as fuck, you suck, you're a fuckin' joke
If you was really sellin' coke, well, then what the fuck
You stop for, dummy? If you slew some crack
You'd make a lot more money than you do from rap
You'll never have no security, you'll never be famous
You'll never know what it's like to be rich; life's a bitch, ain't it?
Raymond? Here, let me break the shit down in layman's
Terms for you, just to make sure that you can understand it
And Canibus ain't using
Too many complicated fuckin' words for you
Here, let me slow it down for you, so that you could understand if I say it slower… Let it go, dog, it's over
I don't wanna be like this
I don't really wanna hurt no feelings
But I'm only being real when I say
Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap (nope)
And old men have heart attacks
And I don't wanna be responsible for that
So, put the mic down and walk away
You can still have a little bit of dignity
Haha… talking 'bout I have motherfuckers callin' your crib
Bitch, you ain't even got a fuckin' crib!
You ain't even got a fuckin' phone… fuckin' bum!
Threatenin' to shut me down at your lil' fuckin' Source magazine, if I come back on you and attack you
Bitch, you attacked me first!
Take it like a man, and shut the fuck up!
Fuck your little magazine too!
I don't need your little fuckin' magazine
I got XXL's number anyways
And y'all can't stand it, ‘cause they gettin' bigger than y'all
Oh, and by the way, how'd I look on the VMA's?
When you was watchin' me
From whatever fuckin' TV you was watchin' me from
From Boston… the mean streets of Boston
Fuckin' sissy! And you got us scared up in here, motherfucker?
Suck our motherfuckin' dicks!
Oh! And for those that don't know
Don't get it twisted, y'all: The Source has a white owner!
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