( *DJ Supreme One cuts up* )
(Rock the Beat) --> L.L. Cool J
[ VERSE 1: Krumb Snatcha ]
Your ghostwriter can't write, read from material
Black King Lear, Shakespeare, skill imperial
Lose when I spread throughout crews, venereal
V.D. leakin out your CD and stereo
Cell block rap, chew out your backpacks
Nickel to the dime, host a battle, bring it online
Cockin on a nine and blow out your whole mind
Be the same effect you get when you step to Snatcha rhymes
Every verse a scripture, spirits'll hit ya
Start shakin like I'm earthquakin on the Richter
Plus-sized beats completes the whole mixture
Imagine that like a Kodak, the perfect picture
Tourin nights, floorin mics, reachin for a satellite
Vigils and candle lights, in the words of Frank White
I'm fightin you and your bitin crew to pen your dopest rhymes
We get up in that ass everytime
[ Krumb Snatcha ]
This is raw gangsta
It's that hip-hop shit thugs can bang ta
In the streets where heat is no stranger
And my peeps behind, they might shank ya
No piece of mind when cops chase us
Livin life stressed in cell spaces (say what)
It's the nine or the shotie that makes a new patient
Riders, gangbangers, OG's and chain-takers
[ VERSE 3: Jaysaun ]
You loud-mouth niggas lock your traps
We'll cock these raps and put some AC units in your stocking caps
We understand you're mad cause you're stuck in your place
You out of shape and overweight, nigga, suck in your waist
Without Snoop Dogg 'murder's the case'
We carryin a portable volcano, soon erupt in your face
Jaysaun, Edo.G and Krumb Snatcha at it
As you french-kiss a full-metal jacket, faggot
This is East Coast gangsta music, somethin to kill to
Pop pills to, the purple haze fills you
Creators appear courtesy of Hennessy and me
OG's before BET's Marie was Free
So when you see us three on 2-3's
In a '04 M3, in the back playin PS3
'Wear your glasses' like DMC
Before your brain matter scattered on your GMC
[ Jaysaun ]
This is extra gangsta
It's that gun-bust shit filled with anger
Startin beef in streets, we not strangers
If you don't close your mouth we might blaze ya
It's a five to nine that I'm facin
Livin life with mad aggravation (say what)
It's mind tellin body about to lose patience
And leave you brainless courtesy of the stainless
[ VERSE 3: Edo.G ]
Yo, stop talkin bullshit like pastors in religion
No vision, I live and die by my decision
Confess to killin MC's by my own admission
Ghetto niggas pay a high price for a low cost of livin
Thug rappers been to jail, ain't never been to prison
If it's money or gettin bloody, then my hand and my trigger finger itchin
I'ma spit to this shit
You can't improvise with actin hard, stick to the script
Edo.G bang with the best, even corny-ass crews
With the same chain and piece that hang from they chest
I know most niggas on a first name basis
A tropical oasis, runnin from old cases
Y'all can't put all the names with the faces
Depends on the game if the king's higher than the aces
Takin shots, no chasers
You're past your prime, bow out gracious
Before you have to face it
[ Edo.G ]
This is far from gangsta
It's that hip-hop shit filled with anger
It's the streets, to beef it's no stranger
It's these beats and rhymes that might change ya
It's the peace of mind that I'm chasin
Livin life with less aggravation
It's mind tellin body about to lose patience
Writers, DJ's, MC's, and breakers
