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Yeah, haha. It's Chris Webby. Yeah. Static on the beat. Baby I get loose, I get loose. You know what I mean? I'm feelin' good, Real good. Uh huh, yeah. Yeah. It's that human dictionary, Webby's always rapping A to Z. Never smart to play with me The flow is never A to G [?]. My style is indescribable So nobody can label me. Get loose with a bottle of goose, Rollin' an eighth of weed. Step to me, Then I'm prepared for war. 'Cause I'm a ninja So you know I'm down to carry a sword. In the lead, So my competitors stare at the score. While I'll be gettin' high like Chewbacca And Harrison Ford. Letras de canciones Immature, Yeah, sure But I spit that heat. Molten lava off the top, Baby, Dante's peak. I just tighten up my sneaks, And I stomp that beat. Build a butcher Don't even know if you want that beef. I get loose like the crotch of my jeans. So complex when I rap. Can't even tell what a lot of it means. But I be gettin' to the top By any possible means. With that audio crack rock I got for the fiend. I get loose, In the booth And I'm at it again. So get ready for the show Baby gather your friends. It's that foul mouth white boy Back to offend Everybody that I can. Where's my pad and a pen? I get loose With the flow Never air to my words. CT on my back, And I'm reppin' for sure. Anybody and everybody can tell It's my turn. So I'm a show these people why Webby's The best in the burbs. I roll the dice like Jumanji, No Robin Williams, But I'll have a pack of animals Stampeding through your lobby. I'm the son of Zeus, Webby spit it godly. I'm a good fella, Play the roll of Tommy. With a couple of zannies In my system And a Callanie [?] I'll be wallin' out of control. I fuckin' dare you to stop me. I'm edgier Than complicated origami. Throwin' fists, I'm the opposite of Gandhi. Never be wack, I'm head of the pack, I'm leveling tracks. Etc, you step in the ring, I'm sending you back. You'll be lucky if you leave And then your head is attached. When I attack the nervous system With these venemous tracks. Stay loose with the laces on my boots, Living proof, That hip-hop ain't dead, It evolved to something new. So call the army And bring out the damn tanks. 'Cause that's all she wrote Diary of Anne Frank. I get loose, In the booth And I'm at it again. So get ready for the show Baby gather your friends. It's that foul mouth white boy Back to offend Everybody that I can. Where's my pad and a pen? I get loose With the flow Never air to my words. CT on my back, And I'm reppin' for sure. Anybody and everybody can tell It's my turn. So I'm a show these people why Webby's The best in the burbs. Yeah. From Letras Mania