[ VERSE 1: Young Prod ]
If any crew wanna mad-dog, if you look it`s on
I got this .44 chrome spittin at your dome
Comin from the shoulders, droppin m****f****s like boulders
Rollin with my chip Motorola
Blazer all f***** but I ain`t walkin
Head feelin light cause my stomach startin to talkin
As I roll by hoes yellin out: "Star!"
But I yell back: "b****, look at the car!"
You seen me in a video, don`t think that I hustle
Stressin so bad, make me wanna jack Russell
I dropped outta high school askin where the money at
`Man, it`s in the rap game` - now it ain`t no get back
`Homie f*** that, where y`all from, loc, you bangin?
I thought the Cartel were some 87 gangsters`
Look homie, I`m a player and I ain`t got time
Two steps back, buck you dead in your eye, eye, eye...
[ CHORUS: Young Prod ]
If you trip off your mouth and my strap`s in my lap
It ain`t no get-back, prepare for your casket
Nutshell n***, the S.C.C.
Persist to get p***** on, get yo buster a** on
[ VERSE 2: Prode`je ]
Should I bomb? Yo, let`s commence to kill a
p****-a** n***** talkin bout they pullin triggers
We got the back streets sowed up
Live on luck will leave your a** f*****, n****, hold up
You pickanannies be talkin plenty bullshit
But you ain`t s*** when it`s time to get with
Real n***** from the S.C.
I peel your cap off
n****, now turn that m****f***in rap off
5`8" with a big stick
m****f****s try to run but I`m comin at that a** quick
I`m so bad I kick my own a**
You disrespect me and I be gettin wreck just like a plane crash
Dash, I have your a** burnin like some hash
Ash, you see a mash, then you hear the blast
Ask the Prod what that be like
I tell you gangster, now you know it`s all to the g right
[ CHORUS ]
[ VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son ]
It`s ninety-m****f***in-six, gees finna ride and slide
Cartel Gang down to hoo-bang in a five
n***** gettin twisted but I don`t give a f*** about a buster
Cartel till I die, m****f****
A n**** dressed thuggish, postin with the heater
Decapitate yo dome with this nine millimeter
`draulics on amp, the a** is on call
Hit the second switch, b****, post my d`s on the wall
Chuck T`s posted on the curb
`yac in my palm and I`m chokin off that herb
I swerve back to the 9 block, pager goin wicked
Check my phone book for a b**** who wanna kick it
Diarrhea-at-the-mouth m****f****s better ease up
S.C.G.`s regulatin fools g`s up
Rhime Son, n****, on deck puttin it down for the set, loc
Mobbin murder deep with my kinfolk
If any crew wanna mad-dog, if you look it`s on
I got this .44 chrome spittin at your dome
Comin from the shoulders, droppin m****f****s like boulders
Rollin with my chip Motorola
Blazer all f***** but I ain`t walkin
Head feelin light cause my stomach startin to talkin
As I roll by hoes yellin out: "Star!"
But I yell back: "b****, look at the car!"
You seen me in a video, don`t think that I hustle
Stressin so bad, make me wanna jack Russell
I dropped outta high school askin where the money at
`Man, it`s in the rap game` - now it ain`t no get back
`Homie f*** that, where y`all from, loc, you bangin?
I thought the Cartel were some 87 gangsters`
Look homie, I`m a player and I ain`t got time
Two steps back, buck you dead in your eye, eye, eye...
[ CHORUS: Young Prod ]
If you trip off your mouth and my strap`s in my lap
It ain`t no get-back, prepare for your casket
Nutshell n***, the S.C.C.
Persist to get p***** on, get yo buster a** on
[ VERSE 2: Prode`je ]
Should I bomb? Yo, let`s commence to kill a
p****-a** n***** talkin bout they pullin triggers
We got the back streets sowed up
Live on luck will leave your a** f*****, n****, hold up
You pickanannies be talkin plenty bullshit
But you ain`t s*** when it`s time to get with
Real n***** from the S.C.
I peel your cap off
n****, now turn that m****f***in rap off
5`8" with a big stick
m****f****s try to run but I`m comin at that a** quick
I`m so bad I kick my own a**
You disrespect me and I be gettin wreck just like a plane crash
Dash, I have your a** burnin like some hash
Ash, you see a mash, then you hear the blast
Ask the Prod what that be like
I tell you gangster, now you know it`s all to the g right
[ CHORUS ]
[ VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son ]
It`s ninety-m****f***in-six, gees finna ride and slide
Cartel Gang down to hoo-bang in a five
n***** gettin twisted but I don`t give a f*** about a buster
Cartel till I die, m****f****
A n**** dressed thuggish, postin with the heater
Decapitate yo dome with this nine millimeter
`draulics on amp, the a** is on call
Hit the second switch, b****, post my d`s on the wall
Chuck T`s posted on the curb
`yac in my palm and I`m chokin off that herb
I swerve back to the 9 block, pager goin wicked
Check my phone book for a b**** who wanna kick it
Diarrhea-at-the-mouth m****f****s better ease up
S.C.G.`s regulatin fools g`s up
Rhime Son, n****, on deck puttin it down for the set, loc
Mobbin murder deep with my kinfolk