how is the best rapper alive?

I've been fucked over, left for dead, dissed and fogotten 

Luck ran out, they hoped that I'd be gone, stiff and rotten 

Y'all just piss on me, shit on me, spit on my grave (uh) 

Talk about me, laugh behind my back but in my face 

Y'all some "well wishers," friendly actin, envy hidin snakes 

With your hands out for my money, man, how much can I take? 

When these streets keep callin, heard it when I was sleep 

That this Gay-Z and Cockafella Records wanted beef 

Started cockin up my weapon, slowly loadin up this ammo 

To explode it on a camel, and his soldiers, I can handle 

This for dolo and it's manuscript, just sound stupid 

When KRS already made an album called Blueprint 

First, Biggie's ya man, then you got the nerve to say that you better than Big 

Dick suckin lips, whyn't you let the late, great veteran live 

[talking] 

(I...will...not...lose) 

"God's son" across the belly, I prove you lost already 

The king is back, where my crown at? 

(Ill...will) Ill Will rest in peace, let's do it niggas 

[Chorus] 

Y'all niggas deal with emotions like bitches 

What's sad is I love you 'cause you're my brother 

You traded your soul for riches 

My child, I've watched you grow up to be famous 

And now I smile like a proud dad, watchin his only son that made it 

You seem to be only concerned with dissin women 

Were you abused as a child, scared to smile, they called you ugly? 

Well life is hard, hug me, don't reject me 

Or make records to disrespect me, blatent or indirectly 

In '88 you was gettin chased through your buildin 

Callin my crib and I ain't even give you my numbers 

All I did was gave you a style for you to run with 

Smilin in my face, glad to break bread with the god 

Wearin Jaz chains, no tecs, no cash, no cars 

No jail bars Jigga, no pies, no case 

Just Hawaiian shirts, hangin with little Chase 

You a fan, a phony, a fake, a box, a Stan 

I still whip your ass, you thirty-six in a karate class 

You Tae-bo hoe, tryna' work it out, you tryna' get brolic? 

Ask me if I'm tryna' kick knowledge 

Nah, I'm tryna' kick the shit you need to learn though 

That ether, that shit that make your soul burn slow 

Is he Dame Diddy, Dame Daddy or Dame Dummy? 

Oh, I get it, you Biggie and he's Puffy 

Rockafeller died of AIDS, that was the end of his chapter 

And that's the guy y'all chose to name your company after? 

Put it together, I rock hoes, y'all rock fellas 

And now y'all try to take my spot, fellas? 

Philly's hot rock fellas, put you in a dry spot, fellas 

In a pine box with nine shots from my glock, fellas 

Foxy got you hot 'cause you kept your face in her puss 

What you think, you gettin girls now 'cause of your looks? 

Ne-gro please 

You no mustache havin, with whiskers like a rat 

Compared to Beans you wack 

And your man stabbed Un and made you take the blame 

You ass, went from Jaz to hangin with Caine, to Herb, to Big 

And, Eminem murdered you on your own shit 

You a dick-ridin person, you love the attention