| A nigga run shit like trackmeets, when black meets | 
| In the back streets, my gat greets | 
| Niggaz that don’t recognize my rap sheet | 
| The facts be, the Ruck rains like the weather | 
| Cuz Rock makes cops throw glocks down like Heather | 
| B., niggaz better be ahead of me Trynna flow steadily, ain’t even on my pedigree | 
| That’s my word to Jazz, niggaz is herbs | 
| Cuz half of the time, half of they rhymes are absurd | 
| I serve, justice, must this, be the answer | 
| For my gun to click, terminal like cancer | 
| And the answer, Ruck and Rock for a thou' | 
| Now how the fuck did you come up with that style? | 
| Sing songs with six-packs, that’s when I smoke seven | 
| Sacks of cess, make Ruck bust caps at the reverend | 
| So chill chicken, before I choose to castize you | 
| Battered and baptized, bitches and bums | 
| With blood from black eyes, when I slap guys | 
| Send that guy to Rockness Monsta | 
| Stomp ya, split him in half, divide and conquer | 
| I want ya To test the irrational inflictor | 
| Rock pounds the ground, while Ruck shakes the Richter | 
| It’s the Rock slide, I’m crushin’ya block by suprise | 
| It be the Bummy Jab, and the fortune Fab 5 | 
| Bitch, ah, remarkable, like the Little Rascals | 
| If I’m being polite, I’m schemin’like Eddie Haskall | 
| Don’t let me gat you, in half to, bring the wrath, too | 
| Don’t ask fool, sure, I’ll sell you a new ass crack blew | 
| And if you think a nigga’s cocky, I dare any ten of you | 
| To come and try and stop me, rock me A champion soldier, Folger, like coffee | 
| Tell a wife ya mouth was in yo bitch, back up off me Move on please, cuz sparks get ya done, might provoke | 
| The cops or, choke ya pops, if we smoke alot | 
| We don’t give a what? | 
| Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, what? | 
| Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy --- what? | 
| When I flow like the Nile river, that’s when I deliver | 
| Nuff slugs to ya chest, makin’ya whole body shiver | 
| Niggaz wonder why the irrational God Ruck be slippin' | 
| Like I was buried in Rettin with nines that be wettin' | 
| Yo section, when niggaz step in my arena, bound to see ya Nigga like Ruck, Buckshot’s, and catch misdemeanor’s | 
| I’m similar to none son, that be my stee | 
| So flee from ya fuckin’face, double jeopardy | 
| All praise me, Rock, I move in hip hop | 
| Fools’ll get rocked, if I got the balls | 
| To stand when I’m lickin’shots, if not, I got the bright red dots | 
| Station, on top of the four-four, to blow ya fuckin’face in, Jason | 
| Ain’t half as scary as the derriere | 
| Kicker, mister flipster, various to late | 
| I hit ya, if you don’t think I make ya block ache | 
| The, next time I come through it’ll be you Joe | 
| That I break a, snake a, pigskin in the wind | 
| Chant my Boot Camp name, and Rock must defend | 
| Burn the bitch ass with ten nails, in my military jail | 
| Make all that diesel shit you poppin’turn frail | 
| What, like I can, I pumps lead into yo body, punk | 
| Or a punk pellet, too, I got my pump shotty | 
| Why these cats always askin', for shit them not want | 
| The jokes you bump, is crippled for months, and don’t front | 
| Fuckin’punk --- |