By the way, yo.
How the fukk you gon' talk about MC's on our heel?
When we just cop them things homie the chromey wheels
Both arms are chunky the sleeves on chill
Any given times a hundred G's in your grill
Don't talk to me 'bout MC's got skills
"He's alright, but he's not real"
Jay-Z's that deal, with Beans and Amil
Never fear for war, hug, squeeze that steel
fukk, you gotta a flow that's cool with me
You got a little dough that cool with me
You got a little cars, little jewelries
But none of y'all motherfukkers could fool with me
You know the wrist frostbit minus two degrees
Bout as blue as the sea the way I manuever the V
Hat cocked can't see his eyes, who could it be?
With that new blue Yankee on, who but me?
nikkas shipped two million, then I blew to three
Then I skated to four, 'fore I went on tour
I came back and it's plain, y'all nikkas ain't rappin the same
fukk the flow, y'all jackin our slang
I seen the same shyt happen to Kane
Three cuts in your eyebrows tryin to wild out
The game is ours, we'll never foul out
Y'all just better hope we gracefully bow out
Throw yo' hands up - nikkas, bytches, bustas
Hustlers - fukk THAT (throw the hands up)
This breh got a big dikk 