[Intro: Chapel] Fucking, like suicide, boy, yo, yo
[Chorus 2X: sample] Uh, sometimes I cry, (there inside), realize It's like suicide, there's no way out (no way out)
[Chapel] Wild, wreck the rhymes, bust out of my mouth Build styles like an architect, building a house Chit-chattering, stop that blab in your mouth I got props worldwide, reach out of the south Fighting drug free lifestyles, Chapel will joust Against MC's soft, like a low cut blouse Keeps ya penal, proteges follow my route Keep ya lips sealed, boy, what you talking about? I'mma bust you, stand back, burners'll shout I keep it all foul, with a thug profile Your style premature like an unborn child Fragile, weak ass, boy, you ain't wild Supreme courts, fuck that, jump that trial My boys grab Franklins, bumping coat childs Came a long way, yeah, I ran a few miles I may not blast cats when I burst, chik-chik-kapow!
[Chorus 2X]
[Dom Pachino] They ask me what's my main focus, poker face, lookin' the dopest Always keep my gear in check, and plus, my chain is ferocious I got bitches, from coast to coasts, la cosa nostra Is the kid, with the toaster that's ready to roast ya Never heard of a hostler, I'm fiending to smoke ya Got the game in a chokehold, getting brains in Sudoco's It's the kid from Staten Island from the Army of locos We international, though we used to be local Couple shows around the globe, shit, folks notice you Couple magazine ads, those kids are rad Even white boys love us, bitches, they wanna thug us Told my Team, when you fuck with them bitches, to rock rubbers And undercovers, pull up on my block and what not The spectators don't say shit, or get they shit rocked You fake thugs, should of learned something from 2Pac, pop, pop, pop...
[Chorus 2X]
[Dom Pachino] It's not your normal, formal, get together You have now, been introduced to Terror Mind power, the type that bring down some towers Wet ya like a cold shower, it's official, rip ya bristle Kiss of death, nah, the missile tow more like a missile flow Gladiator like Russell Crowe, but in the studio I put words together, like birds of a feather flock Undercovers, they smother the block, like a rubber on my cock To discover what's hot, home boy, you not So put that mic down, let it go, you hear the sound of a bell Battle rap, in the dungeons of hell I'm sweating bullets, shitting grenades, spitting gun powder I take a shower in fire, and hear a shout That's when I remember, that there's no way out
