Here is my final song here...set the chorus and beat to the Beastie Boys' "Skills to Pay The Bills"

(chorus...I got the skills to pay the bills...)
Look on your porch, and who do ya see
I'm tall, I'm lanky, and a dope MC
I'll bust down the door don't gimme a key
it's the funky rhymin flowin from the mouth of jp
I spit my raps like a young B.I.G.
Eminem, Tupac and my man Mike D
Like Snoop Dogg blowin up the hizz-ee
I'm the hottest rapper representin' Long Vall-ey.
I worked for fame, wasn't born with skill
As a youngin I practiced with Licenced to Ill
Now with all my raps you'll get your fill
I'll uproot you with my verbal Roto-Till.
You wanna test me? Put on your cape
Cuz Superman the only dude I can't take
Just throw on my record for your own sake
Or I'll school you like the And-One mix tape.

(chorus)

Now heres a message to all you phonys
I bring you the cheese like macaroni
I just played you like a PS2 Sony
I get the gold like Mike Eruzione.
I have to kick you off my island
Cuz with wack rhymin you ain't stylin'
And my number you'll be dialin'
Cuz my voice is so beguilin'.
I pop lame MCs like a balloon
Like Bob Probert, I'm a goon
You sucka MCs can't hold a tune
I walk you off like Aaron Boone.
I eat you up like Panda Express
My money and skills are in excess
Start with me and you transgress
I'll spit you out like water cress.

(chorus)

Now every day I rock the mike
All the fly ladies, it's me they still like
Stop your baulin and cryin, wee little tyke
I think you just smoked me (What?) Psych!
I don't hafta take drugs like Kurt Cobain
In order to reach this plateau of fame
In fact from all substances please refrain
Cuz you get a natural high when I entertain.
So if moisture is the essence of wet-ness
And of beauty wetness is the ess-ence
You must be beautiful all the time
Cuz you wet yourself when you hear my rhyme.
Now all you kids who think you're all that
With ya popped collar and your trucker hat
You ain't slick as me, I'm as cool as a cat
And I don't need to wear FUBU to prove that I rap.
Now you know MC means mic controlla
But you baby MC's I push in a strolla
While rappers make dough endorsing coca-cola
I don't need commercials to make me a high rolla.
All you wannabe rappers lookin at your timberlands
And droning on about your house on the sand
I'm just here to make you understand
Exploiting women doesn't make you a man.
So I can tell all you doin' is hat-ing
But I can't hear what you communicat-ing
But like the Red Sox you'll keep on wait-ing
You haven't won nothin since nineteen eight-een.

(chorus)