| I’ll take you out like a mason cut ya head off like jason | 
| Like you’re free-basing, talking about that ghost you chasing | 
| (Have you seen the skinny little boy that chases the white ghost at night? | 
| Have you seen the little boy? | 
| Face puffed up, tracks in his arm, | 
| and his mind blown. | 
| His mama’s somewhere drinking and talking about survival. | 
| Pop’s in jail or downtown at the Y… the little boy chases white ghost with | 
| his friends and they get HIGH.) | 
| We’re the birth of a new breed, we got you open | 
| Trying to figure what we choking | 
| You just a token | 
| Trying to do what we do, we livin like «what» | 
| Some niggas can’t even keep they mouth off our nuts | 
| You got guts if you challenging this | 
| Leave you with your wrists slit cuz you ain’t damaging this | 
| Quasimoto crew | 
| We make you want to press rewind | 
| Hit you with the discipline 99 | 
| I hear brothas wanna battle Mr. Herbie, where they at? | 
| Rollin up in they Cadillac, rollin' up a sack | 
| Brothas perpetrating hard finding it hard to rap | 
| I come with that hard to rap that freezes their cardiac | 
| Imagine that | 
| Looking for lot is what they haven’t had | 
| Ask him was a lot in that | 
| Does he have his lamp on that wack habitat | 
| I’ll change | 
| Burn em, they rappin' pad | 
| Kicking them more fresh rhymes than brothas kick hacky-sacks | 
| (Have you seen two little boys run past here? With a lady’s purse? | 
| They stole the black woman’s purse the other day, yesterday, today, tomorrow | 
| Face puffed up, tracks on their arms, eyes popping out of their skulls, | 
| and their minds blown | 
| And they get HIGH | 
| They get HIGH | 
| Talking tripping, talking about flying talking about getting high | 
| Getting high…) |