| Crazy head get out there God | 
| Blast that nigga hard | 
| It’s all real over here | 
| Killa Sin, 9th Prince, what | 
| We don’t give a fuck | 
| Yo, it’s burning season | 
| Y’all thugs is guiltly of high treason | 
| Many of them bleeding | 
| Some getting sent to the brain for no reason | 
| On the streets niggas kill without a license, in Scarsville | 
| It’s all for real cause everything is real | 
| Don’t sleep on the average cat he’s packing steel | 
| Ayo nigga I’m on the cash rules | 
| Wasted in my hand, half a hundred grand | 
| Injure that pretender in the black land | 
| Heard he be the crack man | 
| Selling major jums (?) by the pager son | 
| He the one sporting crazy tunes (?) lace 'em with your tongue | 
| So here’s the plan | 
| Get the Glock I got the doo-wop | 
| Follow him for two blocks | 
| And pop him if he do cock | 
| Scat back better snap his nap back for that black | 
| Pass the stacks to Fat Cat and find out where the crack’s at | 
| Rolling out make sure you keep your phone out | 
| So I can reach your shit quick | 
| Get his whip stripped and take my own route | 
| For safety | 
| Mistakes be for hasty | 
| Many jakes who chase me | 
| But never have the space to embrace me | 
| A fool’s game where all the rules change | 
| I never move the same | 
| But who’s to blame | 
| My nigga Buddha came with the ruger aim | 
| Somebody screamed stop the violence | 
| So this nigga had the silencer spitting black talons at any challenger | 
| Yo, it was a ghetto Vietnam I tried to flee and harm | 
| Me and Har my nigga Buddha caught about three in the arm | 
| But one traveled to his abdomen | 
| I grabbed him and embraced him | 
| Had to see how bad this crab had laced him | 
| Yo, rapidly bleeding started pleading for his life | 
| Take care my seed and my wife | 
| Make sure she’s feeding him right | 
| True indeed black I got your back | 
| I hold it down on the real | 
| May you rest in peace son | 
| I see you on the ground | 
| Many times I fought the urge to resort to crime | 
| But I find my criminal mind complying with the villain kind | 
| I’m feeling nines 'til they overflow | 
| Going blow for blow with the rest | 
| Cause them try and test the best | 
| It’s a slug fest | 
| Round one sounds wrong I found one | 
| Lurking in the back now clapped him with my pound son | 
| The shells drop | 
| Old ladies yell for the cops and shorty shot shit | 
| Fell in the arms of his pops and didn’t mean to | 
| Why he had them running away | 
| Should have taught him how to duck when he heard the fucking gun spray | 
| I say a prayer for the kid, keep stepping | 
| With my weapon cocked wetting up the block every section hot | 
| The gats flash out by leaps and bounds | 
| Now police and hounds making up grounds | 
| Cause they chasing me down | 
| I’m all alone in this war zone | 
| My brain’s under stress | 
| Thinking I’m blessed if I can make it home | 
| Scared to death kid | 
| Catch my breath I bear left | 
| Hit the weeds and then rest to calm my chest | 
| But an undercover had discovered my plot and plan | 
| I shot the man so I dropped my Glock and ran | 
| Get the fuck out the way, move, move | 
| Get the fuck out the way, oh shit | 
| Yo, I made a rally to a dark alley | 
| Where I bumped heads with crackhead Fred and his bitch named Sally | 
| She had a down low lab for me to go to | 
| Where I could relax and count stacks like I’m supposed to | 
| Keep my whereabouts on the hush hush | 
| I had to provide some heroin high, sick grooves, and five bags of dust | 
| I didn’t wet up or let it slide because I was petrified | 
| If homicide got me they gonna watch me die | 
| Fuck that, I’m going all out | 
| No half stepping | 
| My last weapon is cocked to keep that ass jetting | 
| I lay low for like five days or so | 
| Put some troopers on the block round the clock to make me dough | 
| Yo out of sight and out of mind be my motto | 
| I promise myself I’m gonna make it to see tomorrow | 
| Word up, Killarm '96 | 
| Killa Sin, word up | 
| 9th Prince | 
| The saga continues | 
| For real though gotta let these niggas know | 
| To the rounds in the cut, all real niggas raise up |