What Is It? - Tommy Tee

1: Masta Ace]

Every season I’m out, I’m hot without a reasonable doubt

Raps in a pleasing amount I’m squeezing 'em out

All this beef is about increasing your clout

Hot rhymes I got a decent amount and I’m leasing 'em out

With the option to own stop watching the chrome

Go home little rascal and learn that poem

When I mix paper and ink I’m making you think

It’s like pouring a glass of poison, and taking a drink

My teeth is sharp they’re better to eat rappers

Why you wanna keep at this you need practise

I’m well known to inflict pain, like knee fractures

If I wrote a book

You’d be dead in the first three chapters

It’s a habit of mine, to put cats on a rapping decline

You get shot with a knife, stabbed with a nine

You’re career’s about as stable, as a three legged table

I’ll put out more records myself, than your whole label

Talking all that thug shit, like you’re so able

The worst thing you did in your life, was stole cable

You’re too lite in the ass to be fighting the mass

I leave you right in the grass I’m lightning fast

I’m nice know, shit I was tight in the past

I throw you right in the dash like a frightening crash

You 're like Bruce Willis in sixth sense and I’mma show it

And that’s cos your careers dead, but you don’t know it

What is it when the shit so tight

That you can’t, you can’t stop do it all night

What is it when the spot so hot

That you just won’t stop

Until you drop, What is it

I’m like a loyal husband cause I don’t fuck around

It’s impossible to get shot stabbed or knuckled down

Got no place on stage with me look around

If this was the HBO fight, you wouldn’t have took a round

Must have had a lobotomy taking a shot at me

Couldn’t fuck with one verse, that ever came outta me

Thought that it was a big game, 'till I spitblames

Need to walk with a cane, cause you’re shit’s lame

You’re on the wrong road, you should’ve switched lanes

I’m a bit strange and I don’t skip names

And you’re next on the list, not a second to miss

And after the party you’ll probably have sex with your fist

Consecutive this, put them little lines on hold

I can write rhymes in the darkness, with a blindfold

My shit will still be sicker fill me with liquor

Put a mic in my hand and I’ll be killing you quicker

The shit you spit, you consider it, legitimate¨

You’re illiterate, I don’t even feel you a little bit

Walking around with your big fitted, you can get it

You’re whole album’s been spitted, I been did it

You dimwitted, rap style’s anorexic

When you wrote that you should have went back

Double checked it, I perfect it

Sit on it like Ralph

Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth