Prove em Wrong

I'm bombing rap, 'bout as sick as a hypochondriac

Who thought he got gonorrhea at a laundry mat.

Y'all brainwashed me bad to think that honky's rap

Now I'm like mommy, dad look at this song we have

"God, he's whack," they stare at me like a zombie pack,

with the eyes glazed over, "Boy, you ain't Schroeder!

Be a vidya game coder, or maybe race motor-

cycles," "you're no Michael Jackson, I'm having

a heart attack, son, cause a how bad that was."

Well, don't tell me no music, cause imma go do it!

Aw hell you're all squares while I am so Rubix.

Take your skills and cube it, cause y'all are two-bit

I'm on another dimension, ya, my mother did mention

that I rap like I have dementia, but these brothers tensin'

When I'm the master of events n' master the mic

I'll never be last like they'd like. Prove em wrong, spit faster than light.