[Verse 1: Champtown]
Get your rusty ass over 'fore I put a shine to it
See, Manix made a track, so I'ma rhyme to it
20% out of a hundred groups are mediocre
They took a medicine effect and I'm a pretty choker
So once you got a couple microphones well I'ma rep 'em
You got some Nile rapper rivers too, well I'ma check 'em!
Because they new to this, I'm true to this!
They shouldn't be doin' this
A lot of rappers reppin' keepin' miles is a few in this
Game, to maintain, I keep it goin' on
You hear the guitar and the funky beat I'm flowin' on
I don't tell 'em when I see it, I just spot it
Just runnin' me, have soul and ain't the only person got it
And blacks don't have to act white if they like Red Hot Chili Peppers
And whites don't have to act black if they like Salt-N-Pepa
'Cause I like a lot of [?] New Kids On The Block
And so I'm Blackened like Metallica, look at me in shock
But nothing else matters wherever I may roam
The microphone's my best friend and the stage is my home
Our music got the sounds, our rhythms got the hooks
I listen to Kenny Rogers, Marvin Gaye and Garth Brooks
I listened to that B.B.D, Ice T, Ice Cube and [?]
Good music is good music, the other, is mess
No matter if you chocolate or peppermint
What color is my soul? Here's a hint: let's hook 'em
[Chorus: Champtown, Chaos Kid & Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
[Verse 2: Chaos Kid]
We're up in it, up in it, and way, hi ho!
It's over when I don't get on the tip of the stickity sterile
If you want to high roll
Some people are comin' the white road, why though?
With my soul, it's deep enough to shake and measure it up for [?]
My oh my!
['Cause I?] [?] someone touch a bottle
The albino brothers steppin' 'em up, we'll wake your [?] up
Yeah, I think I'm enough to rhyme so why [?] look like a [high-boat?]
I don't play around, we'll run and get the five'o, wait
Hold up! They don't, hold back
To just roll up, they cut no slack
You better step up to bat, or please get a hobby
'Cause even a videotape can bring no justice to Rodney
Or IV, I'll put your chest [so much that?] [?] to the point it's futile
Get back on your Indian noodle
So you will understand that you won't have the upperhand when
You think I may getting brutal
The America to Bootle
To get the zoom, zam, the zip for the rip
For the kid who had to trip my tint
It's as simple as A-B-Cs and as easy as pie
But is it never to be as intuitive as the question "why?"
Bullets try to inflictin' pain [?]
[?] 'cause I'm a different shade of soul, huh
[I saw the rappers?] skills they haven't even thought about yet
But when I [told?] they act as if my color soft as my step
[?] me up
They got [?]
But don't call me Vanilla Ice, Serato or Kid Rock
And grip with the [cold super missile?]
Roundabout
'Cause I'm so down, I'm out
[Chorus: Champtown, Chaos Kid & Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
[Verse 3: Eminem]
Shit, there ain't idiots bad as the fattest skinniest
Sick with a little rapper to never battle, little, piddle or paddle the prettiest
Dumb fuck, lookin' for the hats or suck a numb
Or jackin' jeans keep your hangin' nuts tucked
And I'm about to take my look up it, up in a book
Plus I'm almost on the top of the booty pull that coppin' a district shit
See you're just barkin' up the wrong tree
'Cause I got diarrhea, myamia, I uh be a fuckin' honkey
So bad on the mic gotta make ya titterid kid retell what the fuck I'm saying
He just talk, but never the type babbadababa dangididangdang they think they shits so poppa hipty
I'd imagine if I were to put up a zipper to the mic I'd be able to do a lip-sync
Because I rap in this muthafucker there's gotta be a certain rhyme this microphone stick, what the fuck I'll hoist it around inside my home
And the DJ better stick up like a rocket
'Cause he could scratch on a fucked up a pool table with 27 pockets
Buttafingaz scratches like a girly fight
But if our color matters, take no less than pearly whites
But I’m hardcore like rocks in a tomato
Gettin' skinned like I was boxing a potato
I wouldn't suck on the mic if it was shaped like a nipple
I done made lots'a money so I'm good if i make like a nickel
But I'm out cold like a snowstorm
So I got nuts so fat, it'll keep my toes warm
(Hit)
[Chorus: Champtown, Chaos Kid & Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
