[Sample from the film Confessions of a Dangerous Mind]
— Chuck Barris: Hey, I got an idea. If you aren't so bad… why don't you do it? Why don't you kill the mole? You got a problem with killing, Jim?
— Jim Byrd: I just don't fit the profile.
[Verse]
Watch how it go down
It's hot on the old route
There's cops on patrol now, cats in stocking masks
And no, not when it's cold out
If I rob and I show out
I get the Glock and I roll out
You get shot in your hometown
No, not on the low down
Throw shots at the whole crowd
I'm not gonna slow down for the spot that I hold down
But I'm conscious, I know now
My pockets are swole now
But I lost it, it goes down
And it's not often I owe thous
But money talks and it's so loud
I can hear it as I go from a quap to a whole pound
I'm not trusting their resolution
I'm adjusting the resolution
Fuck the government revolution!
The chambers of my guns do hundreds of revolutions
Each bullet spun at your mind
Y'all can get it one at a time
You next? In front of the line!
Come see me, the pall-bearer
I talk greasy like a ball bearer
I tear 'em up, I'm on my grind like a pair of trucks
If you said I'm raw as fuck, okay fair enough
I didn't get this sick from sharin' cups
Motherfuckers swearin' up
You need to grow a pair of nuts
You below par, son, I been the best from bar one, bar none
I am the hardest when rhymin'
Harder than Harlem, Long Island
I belong in Arkham Asylum
I'm a Stone Temple Pilot
My poetry like rose, petals, violets
Chrome, metal, violence
My flow? Never mind it
Switches up so much that I don't recognize it
It's become airborne, hope you don't catch the virus
The dro press my eyelids; if po gets behind us
Then hide it in your prosthetics, and don't let 'em find it
We press albums, you get your clothes pressed with irons
Don't like us? Protest in silence!
Been tourin' all day, you could go check the mileage
I'm so pressed for time, we set the whole west on fire
Want some rhymes, then? Memorize mine then
Guarantee you will be mesmerized by them
These guys got a feminine side inside them
I spit 9/11 times ten, Inception mind bend
I weaponize my pen, but my weapon's my friend
We attached at the hip, we connected like twins
Making trap in this wild game
Is like trappin' some wild game
If you harass me or violate, you askin' to die in vain
Try it mane, try to take it back
Try some Lidocaine with that
Deny the shame, try to blame gangsta rap
Cops think they razorback boars
But they really pigs, I put a blade in that pork
Yeah, then eat it off the plate with my fork
Come see you later at court
Judge a book by a cover
You should be lookin' for cover if you the paperback sort
My life's a open book: hardback
Entitled, "We Ain't Comfortable If We Aren't Strapped"
I spit a hundred bars every day, where's your bars at?
I swear, I could go all damn day
So when I end this song, it's only for my fans' sake
[Sample from the film Confessions of a Dangerous Mind]
— Chuck Barris: What fucking profile? There is no fucking profile.
— Jim Byrd: Okay, there's no profile.
— Chuck Barris: Yeah, there's no profile.
— Jim Byrd: Okay. Your father, the dentist, not really your father. Your real father was a man named Edmund James Windsor. Among other things, he was a serial killer.
— Chuck Barris: Hey, I got an idea. If you aren't so bad… why don't you do it? Why don't you kill the mole? You got a problem with killing, Jim?
— Jim Byrd: I just don't fit the profile.
[Verse]
Watch how it go down
It's hot on the old route
There's cops on patrol now, cats in stocking masks
And no, not when it's cold out
If I rob and I show out
I get the Glock and I roll out
You get shot in your hometown
No, not on the low down
Throw shots at the whole crowd
I'm not gonna slow down for the spot that I hold down
But I'm conscious, I know now
My pockets are swole now
But I lost it, it goes down
And it's not often I owe thous
But money talks and it's so loud
I can hear it as I go from a quap to a whole pound
I'm not trusting their resolution
I'm adjusting the resolution
Fuck the government revolution!
The chambers of my guns do hundreds of revolutions
Each bullet spun at your mind
Y'all can get it one at a time
You next? In front of the line!
Come see me, the pall-bearer
I talk greasy like a ball bearer
I tear 'em up, I'm on my grind like a pair of trucks
If you said I'm raw as fuck, okay fair enough
I didn't get this sick from sharin' cups
Motherfuckers swearin' up
You need to grow a pair of nuts
You below par, son, I been the best from bar one, bar none
I am the hardest when rhymin'
Harder than Harlem, Long Island
I belong in Arkham Asylum
I'm a Stone Temple Pilot
My poetry like rose, petals, violets
Chrome, metal, violence
My flow? Never mind it
Switches up so much that I don't recognize it
It's become airborne, hope you don't catch the virus
The dro press my eyelids; if po gets behind us
Then hide it in your prosthetics, and don't let 'em find it
We press albums, you get your clothes pressed with irons
Don't like us? Protest in silence!
Been tourin' all day, you could go check the mileage
I'm so pressed for time, we set the whole west on fire
Want some rhymes, then? Memorize mine then
Guarantee you will be mesmerized by them
These guys got a feminine side inside them
I spit 9/11 times ten, Inception mind bend
I weaponize my pen, but my weapon's my friend
We attached at the hip, we connected like twins
Making trap in this wild game
Is like trappin' some wild game
If you harass me or violate, you askin' to die in vain
Try it mane, try to take it back
Try some Lidocaine with that
Deny the shame, try to blame gangsta rap
Cops think they razorback boars
But they really pigs, I put a blade in that pork
Yeah, then eat it off the plate with my fork
Come see you later at court
Judge a book by a cover
You should be lookin' for cover if you the paperback sort
My life's a open book: hardback
Entitled, "We Ain't Comfortable If We Aren't Strapped"
I spit a hundred bars every day, where's your bars at?
I swear, I could go all damn day
So when I end this song, it's only for my fans' sake
[Sample from the film Confessions of a Dangerous Mind]
— Chuck Barris: What fucking profile? There is no fucking profile.
— Jim Byrd: Okay, there's no profile.
— Chuck Barris: Yeah, there's no profile.
— Jim Byrd: Okay. Your father, the dentist, not really your father. Your real father was a man named Edmund James Windsor. Among other things, he was a serial killer.
( OnlyOne )
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