Brothers are rappin like Iraqi soldiers
Actin like they crackin boulders
When they pack a cap that won't attack a blowfish
Always talkin shyt, players that rather balk than pitch
And often counterfeit, Kings of New York
On Mr. Walken's dikk
You make me sick to my stomach, you don't really want it
Riffin like you sniffin coke
To scare me but you barely blunted
You really done it now you got me mad
Morenos be like, "Papi's bad,"
Makin fakers cocky when I'm drivin back