| Females better try to trick me now
|
| Cats better try and Out Think Me Now
|
| Stick me now, maybe even kill me now
|
| Let me dominate for two years strong
|
| You motherfuckers’ll never stop the storm
|
| What? |
| Yeah.
|
| Uh-huh, what? |
| Yeah.
|
| You cowards follow, I’ma lead
|
| Millenium speed, Jeopardy, Greed
|
| Golden seed, militant breed
|
| This is all a real thug need
|
| Science of life dunn, black Oriental
|
| Forever bronze to star, day room war
|
| Apocalypse raw
|
| Limit the sky, let me simplic-ify
|
| Mama said, «God should never cry»
|
| War with The Source, ya girl know me, straight live
|
| Found out swine was in Pop Tarts in '85
|
| You old school cats is talkin jive
|
| 320 E, bumping Tony Starks shit
|
| I don’t trust a soul
|
| I don’t trust Canal Street gold
|
| I don’t trust Timberland’s double sole
|
| I don’t trust cats on the block who done told
|
| I don’t trust Avirex leathers when it be cold
|
| Settin fire to ya rap books
|
| Frontin you could get punched in ya mouth
|
| King of New York, this is what a thug about
|
| Uh. |
| yeah.
|
| Apocalypse gifted storm, eyes of Islam
|
| Pain inside Maria eyes
|
| Money low got the Gods in the streets heated
|
| Left the Queens in the world seated
|
| Two kids my baby mom’s speeded
|
| Poverty, swears Allah cheated
|
| Keep it strawberry, catchin cancer
|
| Missin the World Series
|
| Solomon Childs extraordinaire
|
| Power of the dollar
|
| Body Brighton, Allah body
|
| Thugged out, ready to flip
|
| 2000 New York rookie
|
| Hard to hit, who want beef?
|
| Put 'em on the murder cross, imperial laws
|
| Consider me bein top rank
|
| With Pony and Frank
|
| Yo what the deal, Lunar?
|
| No more small cookies
|
| Rather get paid and crush rookies
|
| Me and Mama gettin land with this voice box
|
| Tracks hotter than the Red Sox
|
| Who ever had doubts.
|
| Yo Baby Boy, this is what a thug about
|
| The storm is. |