Substantial
 Your majesty, makes casualties of wack emcees/
 Catch you off guard like niggas speaking japanese/
 Mics I have to seize, I’m Duracell, You’re dollar-store batteries/
 With that wackness, please, send your weak records back to the factories/
 I shop in Delaware, ain’t nobody taxing me/
 Not unlikely, well actually/
 We come hotter than big pun, you still don;t sound fat to me.

PackFM
 We’re bananas like a daiquiri, haven’t you heard?/
 They say 3 is the magic number, Dominion’s the magic word/
 I’m stabbing your nerves with the pens that’s in your pocket protectors/
 Blocking you set, knock your head right off the top of you neck/
 I’m blocking your tech. Mad malicious, crazy vicious/
 Your rhyme was weak as fuck, I thought that you were blowing kisses/
 Whole crew got issues. I ain’t got time to diss you/
 I’m the shit, Only foes are diapers and Scott tissue/
 Competition I rip through. You can’t tear shit/
 And the only projects you’ve ever been through…is Blair Witch.

Rise
 I can’t hold a job, because I’m so sick I always call out/
 Make rappers shit enough bricks to build a small house/
 My records, if they’re all out, buy the mixtape/
 I ripped it, unless the DJ screamed over my lyrics/
 Nasty, I’ve been called the MAN lately/
 Locked up, a ladies man, will turn to a man’s lady/
 I heard your freestyles, and all the songs you come with/
 You’re not developed, you should climb back in your mom’s stomach.

Wordsworth
 Wordworth’s about to make your whole style plummet/
 I got a hundred of different styles/
 Matter of fact, I got a hundred of women, that means I got about a hundred of different childs/
 Or children, I’ve been building/
 Raps are just, be fulfilling my obligations, this is my job and my occupation/
 And I’m sorry if I’m rhyming at your own show, then I got you waiting.

Wiseguy
 Hired MCs occupation is to rock the nation/
 I’m happy rocking the basement/
 Word Up, Cause I don’t need to rock a whole population of small nations/
 Three people is enough, cause my rhymes that rough and tough/
 I’ll call your bluff, call you up and hang up/
 Click! Leave you alone with the phone and the dialtone/
 AL Show em.

A.L. Skills
 Now, you couldn’t take me out if you had a chaperone/
 What! I kill MCs over the phone/
 So, call the fire guards, and red alert/
 Cause I kill MCs through your MHz, my baretta jerks/
 Kills MCs off the top of the brain/
 Your girls giving me brain, cause AL is insane/
 You know the name, el nombre/
 I do it in Spanish, MCs stepping to me, of course they vanish/
 Spenglish or Spanglish, whatever, que loco tu qiuera/
 AL, fuera fuego.

Tonedeff
 Given any instance in time, I split the rhythm in a million pieces/
 Pull tubes on scuba gear to disable the breathing features/
 I’m fabled in regions, that I’ve hardly seen or dreamed of even/
 Elvis believes I’m the king because I stole the crown from Stephen/
 I’m overachieving. Y’all niggas snoring or sleeping/
 Need to WAKE THE FUCK UP, game point for PLAYAS scoring a beating/
 The Foreman of freedom, when you let me on/
 Cause after you hear us…you’ll never wanna go back like Elian.

Wordsworth – B
 Yo, what the hell he on?/
 He be buggin out, when it’s a hot track now you can tell we on/
 You prolly got some radiation inside of your brain and a tumor from hearing this because your celly’s on/
 But wordsworth’ll come across any station/
 You prolly jotting this down for your documentation/
 This is something off the top of the dome, I didn’t write it/
 But I know I’ll be killing all you rappers sooner or later, cause I’m a psychic.
 You gotta like it.

PackFM – B
 He’s a psychic, and I got my sidekicks, PackFM/
 You can’t rush it, going biking, while you’re pedaling/
 Yo, I fucking roll, pumping like adrenaline/
 My shit is ill, I’m under your skin just like the melanin/
 PackFM, last name is an acronym, I’m smackin men/
 Um, fucking getting your shit pumped just like an abdomen/
 A Six Pack, Yo, you get your shit back/
 Call the dispatch, because your shit’s wack/
 Yo, Get off the dick black.