| Hey, you could smoke a spliff wit' a cliff
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| But there’s still no mountain high enough, or wide enough to touch
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| The naughty nappy nasty nigga the nasty trashy ho happy pappy
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| That’s happy to be nappy
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| Me and Vin rock when spots hit flocks
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| And groups and troops with Timbo boots and jail suits
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| That’s how I’m rollin' my hair-do don’t
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| Win I will I got wantin' competition ain’t dope
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| Beat ya break ya broke ya smoke ya take ya
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| Send you to your little group on mute, sooner or later
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| He wanna flip, tell 'em full semi half with a dip
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| And all that other Ringling Brothers shit
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| Sporty naughty hi bye greater than nature while I
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| Shin slam the flim flam and then jam
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| You can run but you can’t hide, you can’t go far
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| No matter where you go, there you are
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| We gonna break, we gonna bash
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| We gonna roll, we gonna smash
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| Here we go yo
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| Hit a nigga, kill a nigga, we’ll come back
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| See a sucker, stretch a sucker, guard your naps
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| Cussin' wasn’t nothin' till a black man rapped
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| See a forty, suck a forty, guess who’s back
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| You’re chillin' with a titty feelin' villian
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| Steppin' to the puny puddy punks catchin' fillings
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| I hit so many guts, call me gutter, I’m the bread and butter
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| Punk motherfuckers I’ll cut up, workin' from the gut up
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| Brand new steady, heavy as a Chevy
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| Ready for the piddy peddy, I’m Friddie Freddie
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| Place your bet on a vet, the three man threat
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| What you see is what you get
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| Comin' round the corner with my uptown bunch
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| I bet your bottom dollar that you’re bottom buck chumps
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| Give it up, it’s a juice thing, I’m steppin' for the rep and
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| Wreckin' all the rest and, weapon testin' on who’s steppin'
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| Ain’t no bluff for the niggy nuff, for the rugged ruff stuff
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| Nigga if you’re tough, knuckle up
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| I’ll cut your ass like class, then blast you by the trash
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| After I laugh then I’ll dash
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| You can’t handle the scandal of an uptown vandal
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| Shootin' up your toes, makin' sandals
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| Somebody told me that you owe me, but can’t nobody hold me
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| I do my dirt all by my lonely |