| One-two, one-two | 
| What the fuck you wanna do? | 
| All haters get cut in they face with razors | 
| It’s just a friendly game of baseball | 
| And I’m striking out all playas | 
| Sharpen my sword, sharpen my pen | 
| Sharpen my blade, again and again | 
| Niggas living in the projects with sharp objects | 
| I take my respect, so Protect Ya fucking Neck | 
| I’m too live, with ya baby mama getting head across the Harlem River Drive | 
| Never take a dive when it’s time to survive | 
| Niggas slap me five cuz I’m no jive | 
| All my Killa Beez living out of beehives | 
| I’m automatic like a .45, taking lives | 
| Yeah, we living in a culture with vulture | 
| Carrying toasters in the holsters, pulling out on posers | 
| I guess they suppose to, I started out rhyming in the parks like Rosa | 
| Aiyo, fuck these rap niggas, I spit bars at these rap niggas | 
| For the new millennium, 9th Prince flow sicker | 
| I do this for rhyme spitters, and heavy hitters | 
| The Industry Grave Digga | 
| Aiyo, smooth criminal, my message never subliminal | 
| Always direct and effect, while niggas claiming they emperial | 
| Serial killa, turn niggas into zombies like Michael Jackson Thriller | 
| I’m on my grind, you move too slow, like turtles and caterpillas | 
| I’m moving through your hood like a ninja | 
| Yeah, the grand finale, build with the Gods at the rally | 
| Where’s all my West Coast Killa Beez? | 
| I’m going back to Cali, lick off shots at Bill O’Reilly | 
| Fly like Nike Airs, whenever I go to war I come prepared | 
| Deaf in my left year, but still sincere | 
| About my career, live without fears | 
| And giving niggas cold stares, Nature Boy like Ric Flair | 
| Born to gamble, natural born gambler | 
| Knock off competitors, wrestle with alligators | 
| And choke lions, like a wrestler |