Plenty poisoned minds of the people are ours. Slaves, from mental death.

Your so bitter, like kitty litter.

I like to make them wait, then I make them beg. And when I take off my clothes, then I form a third leg.

There's no time for conversation dear, moan is all I want to hear.

Yo, I'm the illest. Plus I know more different strokes than Arnold and Willis.

158 Lewis Avenue between Lafayette and Van Buren, that was back durin days of hangin' on my bed-stuy block

If you are what you eat then feed me dope.