Have 2 - Chino XL

These rappers saying lines I never quote

They faker than them letter that Solar be claiming that Guru wrote

I wanna slit they throat and go berserk and stab kids

I’m underground and don’t give a fuck who Rebecca Black is

Distributing these knuckles straight across your glass chin

I will Manute Bol a nigga, I put 'em in a long casket

The monster spitter that’s sinister as a witches cackling

H1N1 off my tongue but there is no vaccine

I’m brash and nocturnal and graphic like a whore’s journal

So I don’t gotta rhyme till I’m turning purple to merk and serve you

I get more checks than my ese homie Stermal

When I clear you out early like a Jonas Brother’s curfew

You try to sue the hospital

Couldn’t be saved by breathing tubes

Jesus wearing a T-Shirt that saying «What Would Chino Do?»

I’m here to seal your doom, XL is a problem

You will never see me coming like a camouflage condom

The true villain, never through killing

My haters are just big fans, should be spinning on my bedroom ceiling

But Chino got ammo for every coward that’s hated him

And a trigger finger that’s twitching like Muhammad Ali’s brainstem

I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to

I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to

I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to

I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to

It’s uncanny how many are ready to end me

I deserve Emmys and Grammys and plenty of pennies

And these pretty Chevy’s on hydrolics

Verses like they’re on anabolics

Making rappers cry like babies when they got the colics

These artists wanna be me bad

If imitation is the highest form of flattery

Than my raps should be as flat as Paris Hilton’s ass

I’m trying to bring light skin back

But El Debarge can’t keep his path out of rehab

The Puerto Rican spic been sicker than Auswitch

Since Noah’s Ark was just a pile of woodchips

You think you’re fabulous 'til the savages double barrellers

Outside your house and it’s singing like Christmas carollers

I spit till I’m raspy, I’m sicker than Raz-B

When Chris Stokes, nah erase that shit it’s fucking nasty

You softer than Avril Lavigne shooting shrapnal at the king

The madder rapper that’ll shatter your bladder matter and spleen

It’s an animal thing and on your grave I will dance on

Your pussy CD will not go double tampoon

Yo

They try to mimic my energy, it ain’t meant to be

Consider me Hannibal Lecter giving out food recipes

Your ass kicked and your path to the casket choosed

Bastards rubbing me the wrong way like a bad masseuse

Ricanstruction ain’t an album it’s a murder exhibition

Sit back and turn the skeleton key into the ignition

Hold hands in a senance realize that the table’s risen

In an industry that’s frail and fucking calcium deficient

Thank Heaven that the visionary Poison Pen has back arisen

Fucking every beat that I’m given in missionary position

My rhymes were not written for fame or to get rich

But therapeutically put my childhood in the electric chair and hit the switch