[Intro: Apathy]
Yeah, yo. Yeah, yo. Eddie Ill & D.L. Yo, tell you what, man. Yo, check it. Yo, this is Apathy the Alien Tongue of the Demigodz and The Tribal Elders. Mr. Idontgiveafuckleupagus. From Connecticut, know’m saying? I spit it like this, son

[Verse 1: Apathy]
My damaging blows dismantling foes
‘Cause I’ll be slamming new flows up in your arrogant domes
Do I be pampering hoes with Donna Karan and clothes?
The answer is: no. You’re played like a dancer at shows
With Hammer Pants and [?], I’m like a cancer that grows
Even with chemo to kill off your oversized ego
See, cats swear to God that they’re nice with raps
But when they write for the tracks, it’s all about ice and gats
But when I attack, you would think Christ was back
‘Cause I’ll piss in your platinum plaques and that’ll heal the wack
Then walk over watered-down raps, make three classic
Albums, fall off, then still make an amazing comeback
My tour of duty’s never for a cutie or the booty
I’m just out for killing groupies like a verbal horror movie
I smack thugs like walking on your mom’s rugs
With mud on the bottom your beat-up Lugz
You wack emcees can’t see the Alien Tongue
That’s impossible like trying to body slam Big Pun
Y’all slowed my style, but my rap was packed with Bo Jack
You got tracked, then smacked when I finally took my flow back
I’m coming off the dome like follicles on Kojak
You come face-to-face with Death like Meet Joe Black
Abusing your mind for amusement, I’m bruising
Your brain like contusions. Y’all humans are losing
[Verse 2: Rise]
Check, sitting on top of Brandy, trade “Deep Thoughts” with Jack Handey
To know me is to love me but some people can't stand me
Conceited creep, I take a week to answer my beeps
I'm the king—I should be fed grapes and fanned with a leaf
Guys want me deceased, girls give my name to their teddies
You wack, you don't deserve Life like Martin and Eddie
It starts in the belly, so put some headphones in your stomach
And play my tape to your fetus, watch him grow to be a genius
‘Cause even in a Walkman with dying Evereadies
My raps sound fat like cats that breath heavy
Blast music on a school day until the sky is moon lit
My downstairs neighbors bang the ceiling with a broom stick
If you don't like my style, you have the wrong taste
Rise, my mind state is bigger than Spawn's cape
Tapes wasted, wack n***as swearing that they laced it
Face it: Rise on top like a rapist
Kick rhymes that's priceless. Freestyles’ll cost you
I'm an honor to rhyme with but a jerk to talk to
Mad quiet, you won't even know that I'm there
My closet’s full of skeletons—I’ll hang my coats on the chair
Legendary, people won't believe I exist
One day, I'll be your favorite rapper and your reason to quit
In cyphers, you’ll get skipped while they’re passing to me
You write your illest wack shit when you imagine you're me
But if I didn't have rhymes, then I'd probably lose my mind
And be a psycho late night, buying knives from Channel Nine
Even unsigned, all the rhymes I spit lethal
While your career is lucky like people who need people
[Verse 3: Gaston]
It’s the G-A-S-to-the-T-O-N
I don’t need no friends—just a pad and pen
Got a master’s in battling—best rapper in
The university. I earned my degrees burning emcees
I’m qualified. I’m not surprised by your departure
You ain’t got the pride or the heart to survive
Try to convince me otherwise, but your rhymes are kind of iffy
To put it simply, not even Ripley's could convince me
Turn rappers to mincemeat. Ain't met an emcee better than me
That’s why these cats lost every penny they bet against me
Evidently, they never met me. And now they wish to God
They hadn't ‘cause I'm too hard to manage. Start to panic
Trying to assess the damage. Forget the bandage—get the ambulance
I’ll leave bodies from East New York to West Los Angeles
But, still, there's some nonbelievers. I guess I can't convince
‘Em all. I'm standing six feet tall when on the ball
So let the chips fall where they may. I'm here to stay
But when the dust settles, where are they? Scared them away
Write rhymes every day, rip mics every night
Make beats every week, I’ll lead a very full life
So Wiseguy, my brother, my pal
Won't you get on the mic right now and freestyle?
Wow

[Verse 4: Wiseguy]
Now you done put me on the spot
I was gonna kick this written rhyme I got. Not
I always go off the top. I was born with the ability
To kill emcees. I got Spiderman's agility
Flip on the mic like a white kid on a bike
Wiseguy’s got the rhyme you like, whether day or night
I open you up like a Sprite, shake you up, make you explode
I grab the mic, cock it back, and then reload
And explode on impact whenever I rap
I can't help it. I'm the illest rapper on the map
I’ll wipe you off of it because you're soft and you should quit
‘Cause you're really not equipped with this shit I come up with
And conducted. Your raps are wack and self-destructed
Wiseguy, I'm simply too much to fuck with
[Verse 5: Wordsworth]
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Say it isn't so. A artist that n***as know
I'm light-skinned, height 5'10”, pigeon-toed
And God blessed me. I didn't plan to rhyme
But he gave you the gift to be a fan of mine
You stand in line, buying tickets for our events
All night on the cement in sleeping bags and tents
At school, I used to freestyle for women in class
Talked about [?], then they would give me the ass
Then they would pass the word on to their roommates
Get their numbers for the summer and hit it over school break
I laid each verse in less than two takes. I'm hard to impress
My ex think I want it ‘cause she enlarged in the breasts
Them n***as ain't the peeps—they lie about love
They only call you when they need a ride to the club
I know why you be home, mad at your chick
‘Cause she be at our shows, front row, grabbing our dicks
My parents I used to hear fuck. Lexis didn't hear much
Little n***a sat on books to get his haircuts
Few feet, inches later, an entertainer
Home of the Knicks and Rangers, sleeping with fitness trainers
Two-timing, so when I die, then
My royalties divided by more wives than Frankie Lymon
Fans believe I'm alive on some island
I'm hiding in high climates, cliff-diving
I ain't even done the chorus yet
Chicks send me naked videos like Alanis Morissette
On the net, your spouse be moving the mouse
Emailing when she coming to get the shoes from my house
I'm out

[Verse 6: Punchline]
Yo, yo, yo
N***as want to sex my dimes, rock my lines
Pass me the lye, but I don't get high
I’ll rap for the cash, appeal to the mass
Hear me screaming, “I'm broke,” then I'm rocking a cast
That your girl autographed. I can't maintain
Rap 'til I'm a poor man needing Rogaine
Show no shame, be quick to diss ya
Cum in your girl’s mouth, then laugh when you kiss her
Address me as Mr. Punchline, the n***a
Put you on spot just like a game of Twister
You the type to rock silver, lie that it's platinum
Do a joint with Punch and fuck up while you rapping
If I die, rely on Wordsworth to clap 'em
Whether dime or deuce, you know that I tapped 'em
So call me Punchline, one of a kind
Soon to be one of the greatest rap n***as to shine