Yo homie I'm back like gammon but damn it I know what they sayin,
I ain't left but you know thats the only way that I'm swayin,
Cos it's WEST ho, coast like the bar mat I'm layin,
For my bevvie wrapped in coozy's with a WARDWELL name,
Rockin that JinJoint like I don't give a fuck I ain't playin,
Even if I'm up on the table it ain't cards that I'm layin,
I'm rappin bars bitch! willy wonka gold to the Mars bitch!
i'm Grinding! These other suckas stick to they're "hard flips",
Shinin like Nickelson when cast for the part,
Shit, reclinin' like Jackie (Kennedy) after they shot up the car,
Call me the "grassy knoll", the foundation for assassination,
The SARS, spreadin the word, and there ain't no vaccination,
Yo cus, once it unloaded and fit to tracks, I'm pinnin ya back!
Like you ain't winnin this battle just hit the mat,
And you can get the facts "Gift-Rapped" stat!
No matter if you paid for that.....the delivery is free with track!
Cos Yo, I ain't doin this so they say that I'm thuggin,
Actin "Superbad" an tell ya that my name is McLovin?
Or rappin superfast so you can't hear a damn word I'm sayin?
Or have a dumbass alias it's just my God given name!
It's "the P" Yo, Tommy like don't try nothin funny,
This a stick up! Lend me your ears or gimme ya money!
Cos we can do this without tears where nobody get hurt?....
Or be the reason that ya peers takin days off work,
Diggin dirt like undertakers, I follow hearses to work a "grave-yard shift" till first light and sun awakens,
Early bird catching worm, check "the Gun" a' blazin,
Goin out like that! Fuck a odd occasion!
Cos it's the caucasian kickin the facts, raisin hip-hop like I don't give a shit if it's black,
Ima love it like my own in every sense of the word,
And own the track soon as I'm stressing what I penned in a verse!

Sayin- yeahhhhh boy it's Tommy-P-puttin burbs on the map that's a rap now,
they be like-worrrrd up! and what it be? puttin burbs on the track, run it back now
Sayin- yeahhhhh boy it's Tommy-P-puttin burbs on the map that's a rap now,
they be like-worrrrd up! and what it be? once a verse on the track ya run it back now!

I'm "RIP-STYLIN"! shifting through beats like Bin-Laden,
Flipping sheets like kids through riveting fiction
An I'm mindin all my 'p's & 'q' (queuing) my diction,
Cross this 'T' I'll dot ya 'I's (eyes) like two in the clip son!
Want eclipsed sun's homie? I'm shinin behind the scenes,
Neckin 'Blue Moons' rippin these hynas outta they're jeans,
Keep ya crew tuned, an all on my dick when I'm in person,
flowin like I never need no one to pull the curtains,
Cos if it's the last call? I'm in that 100 metre dash mode,
passin up bitches to get my Pabst y'all!
Knocking em back while I'm loaded and steady to rip the mic next, pint? Check! ... Throw the confetti!
Cos Yo, I be gettin 'ready' like pre of the 'set', 'GO'!
and when that Gun cracks, I'm offa the blocks like chips Yo!
i'm the thumb tack, prickin ya ear with legit flows,
Up in the mix like-Phatter than batter, Your Crisco!
See i ain't got time to be bullshittin these ma'fuckers,
actin a hot shot when i ain't under par fuckers,
i tee it off on the beat and hit it hard suckers!
and go a far way further than these bar hoppers!
i drink 'em under the table, when they put stories against fables,
that don't wither in time and remain stable,
lyrics that when riddled and rhymed, would 'Cane' 'Able",
Satyrical, acidical-bomb with a plain label,
Reciprical of "all of the gear, no idea", with them flat-pack raps they put up like IKEA,
takin Catnaps, sleepin on legends to ride queers,
while us 'backpackers' sheddin' some tears for EYEDEA! (R.I.P.)
i stay puttin 16's to bed, tuck 'em in like sweet dreams and kiss on the forehead,
read a story but they don't drift off or get bored dead.
so i drop a few more till it's day and the night fled!