[Intro: Infinite (Dom Pachino)] Yo, P. what's good (yeah, uh-huh) What's going on family, where you been at (Try'nna get my shit right, youknowhatimean?) Where you going with this music thing, man, I know you got some darts for the people Talk to me, man, what's good, man (listen, yo)
[Dom Pachino] From padiums to colisseums, boy, you should see 'em No longer they try'nna g' 'em, they try'nna be 'em Told a white lie, while Kryme flying in the BM You got it good, kid, take a look, they dying when they see 'em Women be eyeing, here's diamonds, when they see 'em He's shining, he's winning, he's rhyming and his vinyls spinning Did the underground thing, but I got to make a living When you see 'em, don't hate, think you could of been 'em That's some good shit, considering the shit I've been through Got a phone and that I can't attend to Guess I'm busy, bitch slapping these tracks til they busy Aim for the sky, watch the king lie just like a frisbee Don't forget battling is risky, that's why I keep the 5 to 50 In case ya nigga is shifty
[Chorus 2X: Infinite] Why these phony niggas always try to act brand new Word is bond, on our dick, when my Team come through Aye, aye, them boys ain't built like you Stack ya chips, fuck a bitch, and respect that jewel
[Infinite] I'll never stab you in the back or bullshit you Never asked to do anything that I won't do Give you my word, the fam is my gangsta's pledge And if I go against the grain then I'm over the edge I've survived many times when them gats put on me And survive my little time, you don't know me homey But you still eyeing me, like you want some dick Recognize who the fuck it is you dealing with, prick Inf' was raised around killas, muthafuck' stardom Fifteen, copping from paper, up in Harlem Low lifes busting they magnums in day light You so hype, stuck on dramatics, from gay fights Give a fuck, you got toast, so pop ya triggers Jail time is a privilege for some of my niggas Society, bitches lie to me, got my son If I get nervous, niggas better talk for they guns Got balls, hustle anyone's block, dare to fuck with me The kid ain't yours, look at his face, you wish you run from me
[Chapel] Yo, I might flip out, word up, and go ballistic Spitting rhymes, more hard than solid biscuits I rip tracks, word up, and scrap a mistress Pour an E&J, get myself twisted Where ya name on the charts? You unlisted I seen you forcing your hand from close distance My whole style engage in persistence I pulverize weak old cats, upon an instance Rip cats apart in my existence Metaphors beautiful, boy, I'm just vicious Yo whole style is frail, you're ficticious Your whole team is wack, ya'll like bitches
[Outro: Dom Pachino] It's Napalm, kid, knowhatimean? The fucking Team... here it is... Nahimean? I told ya'll niggas I was coming With the muthafucking squadron, well here it is Napalm World, nigga...