That shyt is old, don't be screamin' get at me dawg (note: Sheek louch was on the chorus for get at me dog by dmx)
Jada don't fukk with me if you wanna eat
Cause I'll do your lil ass like Jay did Mobb Deep
Yeah homie, in New York, nikkas like your vocals
But thats only New York dawg, your ass is local
I might never sell that much
But you can bet your last 2 quarters, I never tell that much
Picture 'Kiss not come out swingin'
It's like going to see 50 at a show and he don't come out singin'
Yeah, you got a felony, but you ain't a predicate
Never the King of New York, you live in Connecticut
I did real songs with BIG, no made-up shyts
And I don't got a problem with clout
You ain't get shot again yet, so what's your second album about?
It'll take a lifetime to see 'Kiss
You had to get shot 9 times to be rich
Man I run Interscope, Jada's tryna annoy me,
Nuthin' but another disgruntled employee,
He been in the game ten years and he still ain't rich,
Even his mama upset that he still ain't shyt,
And he keep runnin his yap, like I'ma take all that,
One more word out his mouth I'll push Style's shyt back,
Loxs made more money in them damn shiny suits,
The game around south, drugs and rappin,
Jada fukk ya punchlines, my shyt(?) went platinum,
Style's and Sheek Louch went double plastic,
Yayo, Buck and Banks was puttin out classics,
we would have been killed you (why even bother nikka)
You ratted on Preme (he probably your father nikka)
In New York you was never a don
(nikkas know you was a rat when you made Ghetto Quran)
Had names in the daily news (shot you 9 times)
You could barely move (Block got the 10th shot) fukk it
(Lets air the dude, dissed Ja Rule) took his style and ran with it
(Singing on the hooks the same) bytch you done scam with it
(And don’t try to diss a D Block crook)
fukk sales, you hear your boss on a D Block hook
Ja, Joe and Jada they're fukkin' retards
I run Interscope, uh-uh Oh, my God
50 you a rat, you a coward, you a snitch
You a bytch motherfukker now hear this
All you talk about is money and sales
What you need to talk about is all them nikkaz that you put in them jails
Hey yo Banks you got a half-ass flow
But fukkin with homey, all you gon' get is half-assed dough
And where the fukk was you at wit ya big-ass face
When I was writin "Benjamins" with 'Kiss, Diddy and Ma$e
I ain't heard of you homey, 'til you blew up quick
But back then I'm pretty sure that you was on my dikk
Go Young Buck that's my nikka
Even if 50 don't let you get bigger
I see you run around stage wit ya shirt off; you need some food
You 'bout as big as "The Passion of Christ" dude
And I still got love for the dirty South
But I ain't gon' respect no nikka with my dikk in his mouth
I'm a Still Be Here When D-Block Flops
I Got More Cash Then Them In My Reebok Box
So everybody want to box with the kangaroo.
Like Fat boy and the Lox just to name a few
These nikkas been around since Biggie and ain't blow yet
Damn! How many chances you think you gon' get?
Cause I remember when the suits was shiny.
Now they on the fatigue booths and grime.
My backs to the wind and the troops behind me
And if I get jiggy the suits Armani
I did the song with ja rule bigging the city up
She did the magic stick remix with olivia
She got more money but I get busier
Think somebody going to end up killing her
She had stories of "many men", times "in da club" & nikkas that was "wanksta"
but the truth was to see
bytch ain't shyt, she was real good at bluffing it
Ordered protection on the nikkas she was fukking with
I use to listen to Jada I've never listened to Joe
I couldnt tell ya how now one of his verses go
Seen Styles & Sheek out, doin promo
I was like "What Up?" and they was like "Uh-Oh
I'll Rob Banks we Got Big Chrome
You & your Long Ass Dome
you look like you got down syndrome
This fakkit Talking about "the hunger for More"
i'll put the Tooley to your head, have you humping the floor
Ya boy curtis dont wont no beef
You look like a Woodchuck wit your big ass teeth
Who Ya got?
