His mother slaved making tacos
packing them away in her poncho
and im the true MC named Marco
Like Mankind's pal Mista Socko
And its like im flyin on an MD-83
Heading all the way (Where?) Miami
So I can be drinkin some new recipe
And droppin bombs on the the old MC
And all you lil girls at home know
That your mans half the man of Marco
Like the Thailand sweatshop embargo
Everyones got a fistagon from D'Arco
So Mr WMA can get his shoe shine
while im settlin into the new time
while histories repeatin the same rhyme
while we're groovin on the skizzy to Sublime