The streets is mine, the East just fine
We drop jewels in our verbal, we reach the blind
We Badu with the earth food, delete the swine
'92, how we merk you, it's reaper time
No riffing, death is near, the checks is cleared
'Bout to charge niggas holes for they reckless stares
'Bout to bar niggas flows 'cause they rep ain't there
They style is trash, the more cash, the less I care
I'm colder, real vulgar
Kill Bill with the blue steel in the holster
Come no closer, got the game in a choka, blunt smoker
Pretty hair, cunt stroker, it's Brooklyn baby
Motherfuckers thought Bush was crazy, kill 'em all
My marriage to the streets was annulled, I'm appalled
From the era where the real niggas ball, took cheddar
Broads even look much better I put pleasure
And stitch in every word, I'm the sickest ever heard
If you can't get me richer I'ma kick you to the curb
Picture getting served on a yacht with Hors d'oeuvres
While the block still rock twenty G's by the third
That's my word