Verse 1:
Yo yall niggaz wit the muscle yall get clapped in the tussle
I'mma hustler, not a rapper bitch, rap is my hustle
Show a nigga know yo, we the 1st teen millionaires in Harlem
since rich and poor, you don't know, get to know
Ain't takin shit to left, Jimmy Jones rock and jock
Right back to the block and cock, it ain't hop and scotch
It's pop and scotch, in a bar they go shot for shot,
Matter of fact, outside the bar they go shot for shot
Me and my codie on a O-Z, we go rock for rock,
Me and my codie on a role we go rock for rock,
You souped up, think I'm easy to touch,
Then you been watchin' a little bit of TV, too much,
Lots of rhymes, so you see my ass lots of times
On the corner still, like I ain't got a dime
Autographs not the kind to be signin' the crap,
Here's a CD, slash here's a dime of that crack
Chorus:
Nigga double up, keep all guns double clutch,
Shoot at yo feet, make you jump like double dutch,
New York baby, for you matchbox nigga'z
Take away the french fry, snack box niggaz
Verse 2:
I know lookin at my jewerly is scarrin yo brain
Not to mention Jada Pinkett over parkin' the range
(Yo that's Will Smith girl) naw she's part of my chain
Pardon my game, car gettin washed in the rain
Runnin yo trap, that'll get you one in yo back
The hood that I had, had to take the good with the bad
Like Joe on the run, put his fuckin P O it's done
Low on his funds, had to get the coke or the guns
Word to the wise, killa Cam, I heard of them guys
Diplomat, crisp black, yo convertible fives
Rims on the wheel, to drive down shows in the South
Rap ain't that great neither, I got coke to give out
Stroke to give out, mot
