[Verse 1: Docktor Speckter]

Yo it’s the slap.box.ologist, Dock Speck/
I keep my back hand stronger than an Afghan misogynist/
I’m slapstick comedy, or commentary/
Like the lack of said harmony for rats in Tom and Jerry/
Imma’ smack you if you wanna’ parry, because I Perry El/
And plus I parry well, assassin suit me very well/
I’ll slap you out your fairy tale, slappin’ you senseless/
But since this, rappin’ back in fashion more than ten B.I.G.’s/
I meant this, when I said it, give me credit/
You indebted to the Dock, because they sent me from the heavens/
To present you with the present, like it’s a gift/
To be remembered in the presence, of Peter Griff/
I drink a 5th of Beam to free the mind, so not to see the signs/
That they be seeding my serenity and peace of mind/
I leave the line drawn, crossed, and all that other shit/
Like catchin’ 3 to 9’s or swattin’ back the mothership/

[Chorus 2x: Docktor Speckter]

Real talk, I may be Def, but I ain’t dumbing it/
Down, real shit, I made a mess so call the plumber, kid/
It’s trouble when, my tunnel vision see in doubles/
I can taste it in the air, the way you feelin’ out the struggle, this is . . . /

[Verse 2: Docktor Speckter]

Relentless, as if incentive wasn’t good enough/
I put ‘em up, because the sentence wasn’t hood enough/
I heard enough, to slap the sense back to surplus/
Cuz sure ‘nuff, sensibly I’m sensin’ that you served up/
A plate of revenge, homie, you don’t wanna verse us/
We play for the win, and then berate you with the verse, bruh/
What is it worth to ya, to keep your fuckin’ life/
You’re fuckin’ right, I’m huckin’ rights, to justify my fuckin’ rights/
Yikes, the way he land ‘em far from Lucky Strikes/
Just cuz he’s nice don’t mean he plan on payin’ double price/
He must’ve tried, a hundred times to be the son of mine/
But he ain’t no son of mine, I’m something of a sunder side/
So when the sun decide to shine, man your defenses/
It’s vengeance, beat you with your limbs that I dismembered/
So you can and will remember what the essence of the dope is/
I’m soulless, there’s no reflection in my smoke tricks, real talk/

[Chorus 2x]

[Verse 3: Speight the Villain]

Like, when I sit, you know it’s on a fatter wallet/
I battle college and saddle up on the rap, the raw shit/
So call me Cocaine Cowboy/
I got to know lames who showed shame, Bowdon/
I be Seminole to listenin’ to cow tongues/
Peter Pan, Indians askin’ how come?/
Cuz ya’ll like Seacrest bout to out son/
I be the Tesla harbor charger, cuz the Fouts done/
Ask son, Battle of the Bulge, like the Krauts won/
Doubt son, I be big dick in this rap shit/
When it starts hangin’, hold the mic with packed fists/
I’m a Christian Bale, Batarang to cat’s lips/
You got questions? I’d rather bang a bad bitch/
Network head out the window, cuz I’m maaaad, shit/
But not the rapper you heard/
Cuz I capture them words, when attackin’ them verbs, like.../

[Chorus 2x]