[Intro: King Just]
Niggas can't see me, if I was in color on TV
Or BET, in 3D, you see us, but you can't be us

[Chorus 2X: King Just]
Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us
But trust, none of them can fuck with King Just
Yo, they look like us, us, sound like us, us
But trust, none of them can fuck with (say what?)

[King Just]
Leave my name out your mouth if you don't fucking like me
If Roy Jones was your trainer, yo, you couldn't fight me
Your idle threats and your bigets, don't excite me
You couldn't 'violate', even if your name was Chris Lighty
Now most likely, you 'do the right thing' like Spike Lee
Before I 'swish' on your face, like I was Nike
Try me, niggas want beef, and bring salami
Like they 'on point', like Omni
Calm as pot on Fonzi, don't give a fuck about your army
Turn your 2Pac rappers all into Gandhi's
Zombies; Return of the Living Dead, code red
Heavy shooting lyrics, without, no, lead
Fed like a federali, let me catch you in the alley
Stomp you out with your own Balley's
Sally from the valley, yeah I bun that broad
While you seeder her up, and married a whore
You should of seen her on the tour bus, tattoo; King Just
The good thing though, the hoe fucked all of us
Plus she brought her friends along, in they thongs
And a half of pound of weed of Mr. Choke Armstrong

[Chorus 2X]

[King Just]
Immitator, see me now, but see me later
Your raps is like a DJ, without a cross fader
You Public Enemy #1, with no 'Flavor'
It's like Darth Vader without his light saber
Major, man, I ain't even signed yet
And you like 'damn, how a nigga rhyme like that?'
Bring it back, copycats, your shit is wack
You can't even pay me to get on the same track
Perhaps, if it was a battle, God
Then I get on and embarass your ass, free of charge
Your squad, bring 'em, they all sound alike
But I'm a Chuck D fan, so I 'don't believe the hype', right
It's on tonight, mark my word, on the curb
Rolling some herb, talking to your bird
And polly want a cracker, so I crack her
Took her virginity, and never gave it back to her
Now ain't that a crimey, grimey, slimey, rhymey
Whiny... all on her hiney
Find me, where ya'll niggas won't be
Do you, and stop trynna do me...

[Chorus]

[King Just]
And it only takes ten, to destroy you and your men
Mr. Choke Back Strokes, same results in the end
You can swim low, or sky dive high, against me
In my prime, Optimus Shine, the proof be the bottom line
Fine as wine, get to the point like a porcupine
Throwing gang signs, slinging dimes in my spare time
Crime doesn't pay, as far as they say
Shit, let me tell it, I got paid every day
Which way, the mix DJ, he play what I play
Most rappers can't rap, so they say what I say
How you gon' lie and, try to deny
It's the art of dart throwing, King... *bing bing* bullseye
No guy can stop the storm, you've been warned
Edward Scissorhand'll make mics out of your lawn
And perform in your grasp, showing my ass
With a stink attitude like a nigga passed gas
Mad cuz you ain't heard it, you don't word it how I word it
You just bite it, and then rehearse it
The worse is, you got niggas catching on
Trying to do songs that's all wrong, sing along

[Chorus 2X]