My decision is precision, I'm ill in ways you can't vision
I got niggas worshippin' Lord Finesse like religion
You can't fuck around, you're kiddin'
You don't want no collision? You better fly South like a pigeon
Good riddance, I'll flip flows you can't imagine
I'll break down your Flintstone style into fragments
So pay attention to the man rappin'
Don't think that it can't, I'm livin' proof, it can happen
I reign supreme logical, verbally
I drop it in ways that you never dreamed possible
So lyrically, I personally figure
That my Harvard style is too deep for you nursery niggas
When I clutch the mic, I'm comin' rough and right
I build more than them workers on construction sites
I'm skilled at it, I'm Illmatic
So “Yes” answers your question if you ask me: Do I still have it?
I'm the realest, the illest
Comin' out the woodworks like them homos in the Village
But, seriously, I got the remedy
If I was at the bottom of the toilet, you niggas still couldn't shit on me
Originally, it's the same vet
I'm on that get-rich list, but they didn't call my name yet
I'll make it special like a prom night, I bomb mics
While other brothers are old news like Walter Cronkite
It's critical, you got these Xerox individuals
But, word life, it ain't nothin' like the original
I'll wreck kids, that's my theory and perspective
When it comes to hip-hop, I'm on the case like detectives
You better step to the next man
'Cause the greatest soccer player couldn't kick it like Finesse can