Toke De Guerra

First off, you son of a bitch, fuck your mother
Pablo Martinez Jr., the villain, the starving one
You lying Puerto Rican, treacherous dog
You say you're Aztec when you're really Puerto Rican
You say you got Impalas, you say you spit bullets
But you know you're worthless, you and your two girls
Tell Fernando to start saving up
If he runs out of cash, he'll be calling
Saying he needs money, even offering his sister
That she even swallows my loads 'cause she's broke
It's not my fault your dumb bitch got passed around
By all the punks in your neighborhood
Even your producer and your buddy, the owl
They got their share of the pie, and now you think you're a big shot
Poor fool, you know damn well you're signed
I paid for two albums, and you've only delivered one

War call, it's a war call
And I represent my people
War call, it's a war call
And fuck the rest
War call, it's a war call
And I represent my people
War call, it's a war call
And fuck the rest

Keep watching kids while your girl works
On the corner, hustling for rent
As an artist, human, and man, you're worthless
You sell your albums and even your ass for a little cash
You know you're just a copy and imitation
Of Tupac, that was always your dream
You owe me one album, and it's the revolution
The albums dropped in price thanks to your fucking producer
Like a serial killer, I'll be watching
When you wake up in your bed, I'll be killing you
You say you made me, that I wouldn't be anything