| I make more G’s than gang fights when I bang right
|
| Plus I’m sharp like fang bites and I hang tight
|
| With my niggie’s from the B-side, and we slide
|
| Ten deep, in two Beamers and one Jeep
|
| Fool don’t sleep, I keep rollin' with the I-
|
| NC, them chinsy niggas gunna die
|
| I don’t have to squeeze on my enemies
|
| I just drop these lyrics on emcees
|
| I bring drama like soap operas
|
| So stop the, madness ya gunna feel sadness
|
| When I drop the, realism that’s more live than freak nick
|
| As I speak with, rhymes the beat kick
|
| I’m no joke when I blow smoke, you’re so broke
|
| You’re starvin', I’m leavin' niggas messy like Marvin
|
| You won’t find no piece of mind here
|
| I’m on edge somebody help me chyeah
|
| Like emcee acho, I caught yo
|
| Ass lookin' prepare to get yo ghetto blast tookin'
|
| There’s mad fake crews in the streets, creeps
|
| And niggas be changin' like funky sheets
|
| That’s the thing about the I.N.C
|
| There will be, no similarity
|
| The other crews in the industry
|
| We go on and on and yo
|
| This is how we came, this ain’t no muthafuckin' game |