This is definitely better than DMX's verse and easily top 3 ending verses
I'm rough and rugged, and up to do dirt
I'm from the Dogg Pound nikka so I'm putting in work
I'm no joke, who the fukk you trying to provoke
(1-8-7) It's cold how his ass got smoked
I don't drink no fukking V-S-O-P
I drink a motherfukking O.G. Olde E
I'm from the clique that be kicking the gangsta shyt bytch
Real nikkas real G'z with real big dikks
I hit em up with the Pound, so what you wanna throw up
Claiming you're cocaine or cavi when you blow up
Know what, the Pound's in the motherfukking house
Back again we try to get high as we can
Dr. Dre, be kicking fat rhymes and produce, and kick shyt
I gets more wicked than Beetlejuice
Motherfukkers get battered, so scatter before I keep you
Hostage, a nikka hostile like the grim reaper
So, I'm coming from my hood, what hood
You really like to know, wouldn't you, I thought you knew
Motherfukker don't you know I'm stranded on the Row
I take a look into the crowd kick a style a flow
I'm mashing, motherfukkers get murdered for asking
Relax kid, you're rollin with a fukking assassin
I last did dirt the other day
Portray, the role of a G, from the D-O double G
P-O-U-N-D, Pound so bow wow motherfukkin marks
The execution starts, when the Chronic is sparked
I'm like Barkley, rough and rugged, cause I'm like baldhead(??)
Wrecks I flex murderous rhymes to leave you all dead
What's said is what's said, it's already spoke
The dead is the dead I Ain't No fukkin Joke
I murder motherfukkers as a hobby
One of my idols Ain't No Joke, so why in the fukk should I be
Fly me, to the Bahamas, ruff rhymer, drama's
What you're kicking, wicked is how I'm-a
Approach you, the locster, who's quick to up and smoke you
You're lookin like a smoker, grinning like the joker
I yoke you from da back like a bytch talking shyt
Cause a bytch ain't shyt but a ho and trick, on my dikk
Flip, lets take a trip to the Dogg Pound
Fools tried to punk me when I was young, but I'm a hog now
And I gets respect and
I step with a Tec 9
Ready to put somethin up in that ass so you respect mine
Fool, Death Row ain't Lynchin and the Pound ain't Mobbin
We all don't give a fukk, run in your crib and start robbing
Throbbing, I'll break a nikka down in the 90's
Maxing at the Pound wit my doggs is where you'll find me, beeotch
Kurupt
