Old-school on this track, I feel invincible
This new school ain't really got rules and lacks the principles
Got mo' clowns than the Motown, they puttin' critical
The gun smokey, Robinson, you need a Miracle
Go back, homie, back when rappers used to be lyrical
When nine out of ten of his friends used to be criminals
The stats, homie, all these killas usin' subliminals
Y'all don't even smile in your pictures, you dudes is miserable
We're the unpredictable, torture over your physical