(Chorus)   Uhhhh!!   I wanna piss on your grave!   make me feel alright!   Yaa Yaa Yaa!!   (Repeat)     While you was eatin'   T-bone steaks   in palatial estates,   ornate with gates that automate   so those you hate could only spectate,   I was kissing my mate   through iron grates   while the guards wait,   50 cent rate for making license plates.   My papermate pen shakes   vibrates from 808 quakes   over breaks   dug outta crates   that sag from weight   of the vinyl plates...   girls work till they back ache   and their breasts con't lactate   you're laughin' to the bank   smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes   contesting, contesting 1,2,3   never shoulda been put in the penitentiary   Boots from The Coup would like to say   I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat   just to block your airway   and that's the fair way 'cuz everyday   you're on a moola mission   military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition   bodies beyond recognition   twisted complex positions   then their kids work in your factories   and die of malnutrition   see your net profit stats   hold some murderous facts   but if you listen to the news you mighta   heard it was blacks   you got us herded in shacks   I got the pertinent tax   how 'bout the one for when I bust my ass   and you relax   I'll hit your head wit an axe   play soccer wit' your brain   to make it official   slice your jugular vein   still writin' songs that my momma could sang   and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull   it ain't rain.     (Chorus)   That bitch ass on the front of a buck   never gave a fuck   he forced his black women slaves   to give him dick sucks   and when he bust a nut   he'd laugh and cackle   let the leather whip crackle   send 'em back to pick tobacco   shackled   wouldn't give 'em nil   so his homies stacked bills   fought on flatland and hill   to keep the british out the till, scrill   kept Washington dumpin' 'em in ditches   so slave owning son of a bitches   could keep their riches   which is how the war got funded   with two centuries of juice   from Black slaves bodies   and the profits they produced   you could deduce   that these men might win   fit right in   and make rights then   just for rich white men   so they quit fightin'   and wrote up a declaration   protective decoration   for their business operations   a gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom - just savage   now the whole world's ravaged   from their hunger for the cabbage   Your fifth period history teacher   tellin' lies like a tweeker   bump this song through the speaker   watch they face get weaker   'less they righteous and they kickin' the facts   they gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax   one thing I gots to ask   George Washington down in hell can you see me?   I'm standin' on your grave   and I'm finsta take a pee-pee!     Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee?   Boots: Nah, I said I love it here in D.C.   Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour.   We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary.   Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing,   is the grave of of America's first and greatest hero, our first president --   Pants unzipping   George Washington   Piss hitting the ground   Ohh, uh-uhhhh.   Cameras click     (Chorus)   Knock knock muthafucka, yes once again   I'll make you pay for your sins   in the trunk o' your Benz   see youse an always fitted   always acquitted   parasitic leech   cain't be burned off my back   wit' no fiery speech   your hands is soft as a peach   cuz you ain't never did work   been rich ever since   your daddy's dick went squirt   have you ever hurt from your back?   ducked from rat-a-tat-tats?   seen your mama on crack?   lived in a pontiac?   drank baby similac   so you could have protein?   (just for enough energy   to hustle up some mo' green?)   I could paint some mo' scenes   vergin' on the obscene   but I'd rather show up at your palace   with a mob scene   I spoke to my accountant   who spoke to my attorney   who counseled my financial advisor   on a gurney   it's about fifty dollars   and that's almost like a sale   cuz it costs too damn much   to let your rich ass inhale   true liberation ain't no word in the head   I'm yellin' murder 'em dead   for some fish, steak and bread   you pay me 10 g's a year,   I pay you fifteen million hun'ed???   Sorry, you just ain't in the budget...     (Chorus)