| Get it!
|
| Haha, Funk Doc in the building, bitch
|
| Ya’ll already know the business, nigga, haha
|
| Yo, let’s get it, yeah, I’m with it
|
| Streets on fire, I’m frying my dinner
|
| Quick like Sugar Ray Leonard, one love
|
| Any boy get served like tennis
|
| Menace, you call a rap bulldog
|
| Me and my pen form into Voltron
|
| Cold, my heart built with a snowball
|
| And I fuck old women like Zohan
|
| Roll on like Michem, Barry Bonds this bitch
|
| When the beat start pitching
|
| I’m broke, my ATM ain’t kicking
|
| But what I drive, I build expensive
|
| Look at me, nigga, I got it
|
| In pocket, ask Houston how I 'rock-it'
|
| If I go hungry, you getting robbed
|
| By me, Biggie Smalls and The Delfonics
|
| Yo, man, yeah, yeah, take it back to Rae shit
|
| Straight off the muthafucking concrete, nigga
|
| You know how I go, word up, let’s go
|
| Before all the cussing and the gunfights
|
| Don’t wanna run Nikes, yeah, scramble when it sunlight
|
| G’s in my pocket of juice, blue goose
|
| I’m a goon under the moon, glow on the boosters
|
| Yeah, deadily my sons regret me
|
| Windpipe writing, the mic fighting, respect me
|
| I’m from where it get down, machete your mother
|
| Snatch your brother, scrap you down
|
| You know the deal, when we do this, chill
|
| Catch me in Brazil, ratchet on, little glass of Tequil'
|
| I sware to the real, my real, if I don’t win
|
| Then I won’t spend, I’m grabbing bill
|
| That’s the hammer, I’mma do this, nana
|
| Niggas who hunt, snatch 'em up, bite the clip, the banana
|
| And this is for them good niggas, blow that L
|
| And that blow that well, and watch the book, niggas
|
| Yeah, watch them jooks, niggas, you know what it be, man
|
| Word up, niggas staying alive (Gotta kill these voices in my head)
|
| Bunch of fucking roaches, man
|
| Jeter, married to the game without a pre-nub
|
| And she don’t act up, if I don’t eat her
|
| Damn, now that’s what I call a diva
|
| You sick, man? |
| I’m what you call a fever
|
| And I don’t put no snow up in my cheeba
|
| Pack a little heater, the game get colder in the freezer
|
| Hit your little corner with the sweeper
|
| Dance with the reaper, sharper than a fuck
|
| Plus I’m laying in the cut like a half-moon Caeser
|
| What you getting is the truth
|
| My bird eye visions spot the pigeon in the coup
|
| Same way I live it, how I spit it in the booth
|
| Next to RZA, ain’t no nigga bigger than the group
|
| Stat, fuck that, we come strapped
|
| Bust gats, drug raps, and pump cracks
|
| What you trying do nigga, we done done that
|
| I’m off the gunrack, nigga put ya gun back
|
| Yeah, you slow your blow, boy
|
| You gon' lay where you lie, nigga
|
| (Get rid of the crack, and flush that dust
|
| Hurry, where the L, move, come on, freeze, freeze)
|
| Aiyo, I woke up in handcuffs, heard the police wanted me dead
|
| Big bullets and splashing all over
|
| Kingpin’s still moving that weight
|
| And his main goon burned up a discotech
|
| He’s a hazard, classic, nigga, we got a flick of him
|
| He jacked Nate, while he took the picture
|
| And we tapped his crib, bugs all in the jacuzzi
|
| Under the seeds bed, we found an uzi
|
| Trully, and we know about his bitch in Charlotte
|
| Pulled her over, State Troopers found two revolvers
|
| And she told us them handguns «That's my fathers
|
| And I’m licensed to carry those shits regardless
|
| Ya’ll just played my man, caught her with a million dollars
|
| Worth of fireworks, coming back from Japan
|
| It’s nothing, ya’ll police be fronting
|
| And stop looking at my pussy, like ya’ll want to suck it, I’m out
|
| On ya’ll pussies, catch me next time, bye bye»
|
| Alright, fellas stand back and watch the closing doors
|
| Lock 'em up! |
| Let’s go, lights out |