| Yo, it’s the left jab
|
| That have 'em fucked up like a crystal meth lab
|
| Nigga it’s the right cross
|
| That’ll rattle your brain and drain your life force
|
| Do a lotta things for the chain with the ice cross
|
| Checking papi down the corner, brick and the white soft
|
| That shit wack, gyro meat with the white sauce
|
| I spit pyro, heat all my life, boss
|
| I’m into large cars and hard denim
|
| Ya’ll niggas fraud and your dodge, slobbing on large women
|
| I did a small stint in a large prison
|
| Came home rapping, saying it was all God given
|
| Sean is risen, came up the hard way
|
| Mother Gaston and Blake, that’s where the God stay
|
| Sing a sad song, like Sade
|
| I will each ya food like this fucker with Andre, P!
|
| You ain’t gotta like it, all you gotta do is get low
|
| When the fifth blow
|
| It don’t matter if your bladder’s all scattered
|
| On the side of the road, you decided to flow
|
| You be like, I hope these muthafuckas bulletproof
|
| If not, I’m show 'em what these bullets do
|
| Cuz, the mack spraying, saying nigga what?
|
| «So why has it got to be so damn TOUGH!» |
| — Kurtis Blow sample
|
| I came to the game a vet, O.G. |
| on the set
|
| Hella choppers on deck, why G’s in check
|
| Like a Mossberg round when I’m bringing that sound
|
| You muthafuckas now rocking with the king of the crown
|
| I ain’t running, I’m gunning with my latin ratcheto
|
| For bricks of that pure pedrico, ask Rico
|
| Faggot niggas talking bout I’m hating on the south
|
| Cuz I’m hating all that wack shit niggas be putting out
|
| Bitch bullshit is bullshit from B.K. |
| to V. A
|
| Have my nigga B.A. |
| bodyslam the D. J
|
| Magnum’s striking like the wrath of God
|
| Heltah Skeltah, crash through the math, I’m hard
|
| You know who you Rucking with, y’all niggas can’t Rock
|
| Got runningback bullets that ya’ll vest can’t block
|
| Niggas buzzing the hood, screaming Juxx shit is rough
|
| «So why has it got to be so damn TOUGH!» |
| — Kurtis Blow sample
|
| It’s Mr. Monster Mad Rocko
|
| Oscar the Grouch, hop up out the garbage can and pop toast
|
| Reincarnate your ass with the rugers
|
| Michael J. Fox clap ya stupid ass 'back to the future'
|
| You ahead of your time, huh, huh? |
| Watch how you talking
|
| To grown folks, I don’t throw fits, I throw folks
|
| You had no idea the dirt I do, you summamabitches
|
| I call a cab and throw you in front of it, I ain’t old school
|
| But I’m big Rock, I hit you in the head with a big Glock
|
| And pop it, you gon' stop and drop
|
| Niggas bad, rookie, the guns bust and boogie
|
| You don’t move, nigga fill you with heat, in the street
|
| Doing the tweak, wheezing and freezing wishing you could scream
|
| Wire’s last episode, you the nigga Cheese
|
| I am past eskimo, cooler than a breeze
|
| Cold meal, they cold still, and make you stupid niggas freeze |