[Intro: sample of Boogie Productions' "My Philosophy"] Rap is like a set-up, a lot of A lot of suckas with names I'm so-and-so, I'm this, I'm Huh, but all just wick-wick-wack
[Joe and gentlemen With no further {"wick-wick"} your man, Joey! {"wick-wi-wi-wi-wick-wick-wack"} {"wick-wick-wick-wack"}
I'm the perfect one to show ya, all that slick talkin could be All it's take's a U-turn from the chauffeur You me, you just see We mix with guns, that's the hood's UFC And me? I never had gear (nah) but since year I not to cop nothin if it wasn't cashmere You just salty, I'm fonder sodium Anticipate the shots like at the podium Me and y'all are nowhere near the same (nah) Not in layman's terms, Metaphorically, lyrically, not Theoretically (I mean) we just genetically And they named me the champion yet So it's, ACG's, sweats Homie this is a thought (for) The Donny Wall DJ's that don't wanna play the best in New York, dawg
"Wick-wick-wack" "Wick, wick-wi-wick-wi-wick-wick-wack" "Wick-wick-wick-wack" "Wick-wick-wack" "Wick, wick-wi-wick-wi-wick-wick-wack" "Wick-wick-wick-wack"
Da 5'9"] OHH! My nigga is BACK! 5'9", that's me, I'm back what?
My nigga Jumpoff said it best - y'all niggaz married to the I'm married to a bottle of Patrn wearin a dress niggaz is dead unless you see we have not been playin The Slaughterhouse ain't no goddamn up to the bar where you hang Shoot at bottle like, "Hohh, we pop champagne!" No disrespect to ol' D's boy I ain't Prince Akeem but I greet you with the sweepers or the (Semmi)'s These lame rappers is broke They so po' they gotta 'Loso to have a (Fabolous) quote And to the fo'-fo' grabbin throat tellin 'em choke Your arms all froze like they havin a stroke it y'all, Nickel bonkers, kick and stomp ya Put a nigga sleepin in a shlomper, I am not the one This my to that nigga hidin out in Yonkers [crickets Haha, that nigga's (blam)
[Joell Uhh, Joell (Joell Ortiz) yup, it's really me I used to drink the beer by Billy Dee By the bodega in and a white tee Steady cocoa pia papi for a iced tea Married to the block, that's why I kept a wifey Million fish in the sea, I juggled a couple Had a for guns, I always kept a few near Never shot but I fired 'em all on New Year's lost a fight, I'm like 25-and-O, what! Except that time in high but he jetted when I woke up time I spit it's like somebody filled the whole cup with and just downed it, they hear it wanna throw up Many nights the fridge held me down with old cold No mayo? No No bread? Ah, so what! On the in the corner was my mattress, B I hated that so I don't rap like you MC's
I] Geah! H-dot, ha ha!
I laugh I kill you, I'm a poor sportsman Slaughterhouse the successors to the Horsemen Niggaz born to pimp so bring some whores in with my other hand before more foreskin Me and Red Spyda, in a red Spider Westsider, homie's a tec writer Homie I check riders, you better down Hands down, be man down on the damn ground Long Beach, the home of them clappers ringtoners to backpackers, I smack rappers Speak on us and we gon' be bendin street corners to clap actors, after that brrrap, backwards Shit, that's the force roll through I Malcolm X you pigs, what the gon' do? I Malcolm X the track, mean arm-leg-leg-arm-head the beat, the torso too, heh And the chorus for you, NIGGA!
[Chorus - begins during line]