* your bitch in the click you claim Westside when we rock on me quick
We game you claim to be a player,
but I * your wife.
We bust on bad boys niggas * for life
Plus Buffy trying to see me weak horse.
I rip Mickey Smalls and Junior Mafia some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for your jewels
Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Lil' Ceaser go ask your homie how I leave you
Cut your young ass up and leave you in pieces
Now be deceased Lil' Kim don't * around with real G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets
So * beats I let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride the night Haha
Bad boy murdered on wax and kip
* with me and get your caps peeled
You know, see *** your blocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac Uh,
who shot me but your punks getting finished now you're about to feel the wrath of a menace nigga I hit em up
* your style, you motherfuckers know what time it is.
I don't even know why I'm on this track
Y'all niggas ain't even on my level.
I'm gonna let my little homies ride on you bitch made ass bad boy bitches
Feel it! Get out the way yo,
get out the way yo
Biggie Smosh that Scott drop,
little move past the mat and let me hit him in his back
Frank Wright need to kiss Bank Wright for setting straps,
little accident murderer And I ain't never heard of ya,
poisonous cats attack when I'm serving ya
Spank and shake, get hostile when I gank,
guard your rank Cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint,
puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm running through nigga
And I smoke a junior mafia in front of you nigga,
with the ready power
Tuckin' my gas under my Eddie Bauer,
ya clout petty sour,
I'll push packages every hour
Hit em up, *** your blocks when you see Tupac,
call the cops when you see Tupac
Who shot me but your punk's getting finished,
now you're bout to feel the wrath of a menace
nigga we hit em up,
people how we do it keep it real,
it's penitentiary steel this ain't no freestyle battle,
all you niggas getting killed with your mouths open
tryna come up off of me,
you in the clouds hoping,
smoking dope it's like a sherm
all our niggas think they learn to fly,
but they burn, motherfucker you deserve to die
talking bout you getting money,
but it's funny to me,
all you niggas living bummy
why you * with me,
I'm a self made millionaire,
thug living out of prison
pistols in the air,
biggie remember when I used to let you sleep
on the couch and beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house
now it's all about Versace,
you copy my style
five shots, cook and drive me,
I took it and smiled
now I'm bout to set the record straight
with my AK I'm still the thug that you love to hate
motherfucker I'll hit em up
I'm from N.E.W.
Jers,
where plenty murders occurs
no point to come if we bring the drama to all you heard
so I go check the scenario
little scenes I bring you fake G's
sit your knees coppin' pleasin' D's,
you narvio little Kim is you,
coked up or doped up
here's your little Junior,
I will click smoked up
What the * is you stupid?
I take money,
crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique lootin',
shootin' and pollutin' your block
With 15 shot cock lock till you're not outlawed Might be a clique movin' up another notch
In your box tops,
pops get mobbed and dropped Know your fake ass East Coast props brainstormed
and locked Use a B-Biter,
a Pac style taker
I tell you to your face you ain't * but a faker
So for the alizé with a chaser Bout to get murdered for the paper
E.D.
I mean the processing of the caper Like a loke with low season and a choke
We ain't no motherfuckin' joke,
thug life, niggas better be known
We approachin', in the wide open,
gun smokin' No need for hopin',
it's a battle lost
I got em' crossed as soon as the funk is poppin' off
Nigga, I hit em' up
Now you tell me who won I see them, they run
They don't wanna see us Whole Junior Mafia clique dressin' up tryna
be us How the * they gon' be the mob when we
always on our job We millionaires,
killin' ain't fair but somebody
gotta do it Oh yeah,
Mob D You wanna * with us?
You little young ass motherfuckers
Don't one of you niggas got sickle cell or something?
You fuckin' with me nigga,
you fuckin' around and have a seizure or a heart attack
You better back the * up before you get smacked the * up
This how we do it on our side
Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it,
bring it But we ain't singin',
we bringin' drama * you and your motherfuckin' mama
We gon' kill all you motherfuckers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth for the motherfucker opinion
Well this how we gon' do this
* Mobb Deep,
* Biggie
Biggie * bad boy as a staff record label and as a motherfucking fruit
And if you want to be down with bad boy,
then * you to Chino XL.
* you,
too
All you motherfuckers.
* you, too
Early on motherfuckers * you die slow motherfucker my phone phone make sure all your kids don't grow you motherfuckers
Can't be us or see us.
We got the * thug life riders Westside till we die out here in California,
nigga We want your will bomb on you motherfuckers.
We do our job.
You think you mom nigga?
We the motherfucking mob ain't number kill us in real niggas all you motherfuckers fillers.
I should go triple in four quatro
Because our staff got guns and they motherfuckers bells,
you know, how it is when we drop records
They felt you niggas can't feel it.
We the realest * him.
We bad boy kill