Now let me tell you a little story 'bout a dude named Spose Who spits the rap lyrics wearing Pac Sun clothes A fan of that old school rap, he crafts flows To be bumped from the trunks of Mainers and Massholes Holed up in a maroon van Secondhand smoke and some country jams Zoom fast through the windshield to the back seat Reading R.L. Stine, killing time that's me The year's '93, almost nine finally Discman in my hand, I'm bumping TLC Not a care in the world just a Huffy in the back That could change six-speeds in like no time flat Jordan jersey? Jordache? Those were must-haves Second grade I wasn't rad, I had a mustache This one chick turned around and told me I was weird And I was, but now I got you throwing up your beer, my name's Spo-o-o-o-ose Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's Spo-o-o-o-ose Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts Spo-o-o-o-ose To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister Spo-o-o-o-ose Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house I know how cool kids feel My first whip, Dick Tracy, big wheel, I was kind of a big deal Got into an accident, I smashed my face I must've missed pre-school for, like, 15 days First cassette tape? New Kids on the Block Also had Kriss Kross and alternative rock So, who would've thought I would spit it like this Just a little white kid with some British Knight kicks What a riddle life is, so pass the lighter Cause I'm still sick and tight as virgins with meningitis It's hereditary that I fix up these lines Cause I was born in '85, the son of a cable guy I learned getting high was a wonderful way to fly So, hi, hello, Nikes if you pan down Bump it at your campground I outta soak it up like a Sham-Wow, what's my name? Spo-o-o-o-ose Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's Spo-o-o-o-ose Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts Spo-o-o-o-ose To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister Spo-o-o-o-ose Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house Lastly here's the story of how I became Spose How it's Heineken over Veuve Cliquot How I outshine a headliner when I open a show And how I got the records they bump when they're smoking their bowls I was fourteen into emceeing and shit Started a group with Stiky-1, Zach B, and the Miff It was at my mom's house, on the second floor If you're from Wells, Maine then you know we called it F-4 Then I went solo like Beirut cups Up in SoPo with Jim Brown, my producer I found my steez, that is: just be me Leaving peeps at the beach to put speech to beats Peach blunts, used to puff each evening Now people only come into Maine for three reasons: Lobster rolls, Spizzy Spose, and ski season I'm dope up in Maine, what's my motherfuckin' name!? Spo-o-o-o-ose Hands to the ceiling if you're catching the feeling, my name's Spo-o-o-o-ose Put your hands up, whores and the man-sluts Spo-o-o-o-ose To the rafters, bastards, it's the master, mister Spo-o-o-o-ose Wells, Maine in the motherfucking house