I'm not a clone I'm a Frankenstein,
created through the visions of a mastermind,
this face, this soul, this ryhme is mine,
but ya'll don't notice,
Frankenstein!
So what if I use jumpet cables to kick start this retard,
and his brother in this music game of street smarts,
bitch we been doing this since '93, 10 years in this so called industry,
what I see is so many stars sucking dick,
what we be is something that's truly flipping the script,
what ya'll know is only what they provide you with,
a song is a song even if you call it a hit,
my face is my property painted up or not,
wearing a mask, whatever I have or have not,
we come as an extension of who I be ain't nobody writing raps for me,
and basically we put in mad work for the little we obtained,
ain't no plaques covering my wall wiht my name,
but my ever growing family is spreading in the mass,
enough to scare the shit outta your playa hating ass,
and you still wanna call me a clone?
(Chorus X2)
People, the panic's kinda wide spread,
I'm shedding skins like chameleons just to keep my diguses,
now I'm hearing that this is the only reason that people play me,
but they really hate me when my make up's off, you sound so soft, goo,
and I'ma put it in the words of the B.I. and then maybe you'll realize,
this ain't a game and I ain't a clone, it ain't the fame it's the microphone,
and all the family I've pbtained over the years, who representing for the same fears,
you keep hating and disrespecting, Violent J put us on the grind and said,
you gotta keep an axe in your waist at all times, and its a whole lot pf people,
thats just looking to side so don't worry about the haters you just bring it from with inside,
so this soul, this this song, this ryhme, is the soul of your very own frankenstein,
(Chorus X2)
If they're both clones then what the fuck am I?
a painted dead body soaked in a clones phormeldehyde?
known to sway your eye and straight knock out your teeth,
and bring the heat to your zone, leaving ya to smoke in the street,
knocking the beats, knocking the throw, knocking your door off the hinges,
fuck you bitches and all you haters laying on the floor,
fuck what you know I play a base for haters domes and telephone poles cause I'm out cold,
Colton, the undying, Blaze Ya Dead, you know the rest,
and it's a mother fucking shame to catch a bullet in your chest,
for some shit you said when you was high and thuggin,
light a gas in your face and look who ain't saying nothing,
you's a fake yourself and fuck your wealth,
and fuckin with Frankenstein is bad for your health,
and you can put it on my casket and fan bases,
this 40 these nuts and our painted faces,
(Chorus X2)