Mad Skillz The Conceited Bastard Letras:
Uh, what what? Supafriendz, uh, uh

Straight up and down, ain't no comparing me, see
Cause I got some shit that'll put y'all
motherfuckers Back in freestyle therapy, B I make
rappers fall like when school starts, like cheap
tissue When you're next to my shit you're getting
ripped apart Dissing wack niggas without rehearsal
No matter what I say somebody gonna take it
personal, so fuck it Your man put down the
cheddar, nigga we get the pay-oh I make sure you
lose a friend for life and be looking for a way
home Get dropped on your rap block without leaving
a spot Separate you from the jock, I got plans to
make you hot Watch an MC and you rot, nigga these
flows is crisp When a mic in my hand bitches is
supposed to be like this There's mad niggas that
wanna see Mad Skillz slip Yeah you gonna see me
slip, past your ass with your bitch in my whip Get
a grip, whoever got the itch then I got the
scratch MC's wanna get gassed, I feed their ass a
lit match All these jealous-ass niggas acting
sheisty Better tongue kiss Magic Johnson before
they tell me I'm nice But that's aiight, Northside
E, conceited times three Come through your town on
skis, subtracting MC's Word to Battle be in
Lonnie's last name Approach me, all you getting
that Plus you getting blown out the fucking frame
Who the nigga that got a big head when he on the
mic, pa? Ask a question, answer me (Bastard, you
are)

Who the MC that grab the mic and start busting
rappers' asses? (You are you conceited bastard)
Who be burning beats down leaving you with
straight ashes? (You are you conceited bastard)
Who's the one who put wack MC's right in their
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casket? (You are you conceited bastard) Man these
fools, they slower than retarded molasass, who the
nicest? (You are you conceited bastard)

Ayo, these little niggas in the rap game, they
straight lame Had diss you in a rhyme, but these
niggas be scared to say your name If a nigga say
mine, he getting bagged, kid, I'm a be in the
Studio whipping his ass before he can finish his
fucking ad-libs Taking me out? Stop hoping Niggas
always say they gonna do it, it never get done,
it's like voting I get it open, rhymes tying into
name Simple and plain, I pull rhymes, one ring and
one chain I give a fuck about fame, press your
luck and quit Mic-wise you realize I ain't that
nigga you wanna fuck with I'm nice as a bitch with
the rhyme, if a nigga say I'm wack He don't know
his name, can't walk a straight line Pissy drunk,
screaming like Onyx Forgot his social security
number, damn near drowning in his own vomit I kill
logic, test me friend, you'll be in a club with
your clothes On backwards hollaring at a
well-known lesbian Half of y'all niggas got wack
raps and wack tracks Talking about you
representing, putting your town on the map Still,
your mother heard your tape and wanted to shoot
you And niggas around this bitch wonder why we
call ourselves "Super?" Your flows get
you free lunch, mine get dough and cash You
shouldn't like that your ho got my logo tatooed on
her fucking ass I do all y'all playa haters,
believe me You trying to end your career before
this shit even start, come see me

Outro: Repeat 2x

Who the MC that grab the mic and start busting
rappers' asses? (You are you conceited bastard)
Who be burning beats down leaving you with
straight ashes? (You are you conceited bastard)
Who's the one who put wack MC's right in their
casket? (You are you conceited bastard) Man these
fools, they slower than retarded molasass, who the
nicest? (You are you conceited bastard)

"Well that's true" "You are"
(Repeat 16x)
Letras: The Conceited Bastard Mad Skillz [final]