[Young Prod]
Yeah
Puttin it down like this, b**h
S.C.C. back at yo a**, n***a
f** everybody
That's real
[VERSE 1: Young Prod]
Rides, from my six-fo' to my Lex-o
Bumpin, what would you do if you knew, loc
How to put a lick down? Busta, you'se a amateur
You get scared when I glare, imagine if if I stare at ya
Then you would have to test yo Pro-Keds
Cause I done drew down and bust a cap at your forehead
So go 'head and jet, but let your big homie know
If he got static the automatics is ready-go
And what I bang I claim real to the gee
The Cartel's cavi, so can we calculate the C
As we be dumpin, locin as we slide on the d's
And we slip the clips to the B.G.
Young P puts it down and ain't nothing changin
I'm aimin heat at your dome cause it's gangsta
Bustas better raise up off the blocks when we ride
Cause glocks leave n***as shell-shocked and they die
[CHORUS]
O.G.'s get smoked
B.B.'s get loced
With straps
So perhaps
n***as get dealt with
If caps get peeled and n***as get served
With straps
So perhaps
n***as get dealt with
[VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son]
I'm up early in the mornin, creasin my Karl Kani's, I'm saggin
I reach for my heat, yeah, that .44 magnum
It's time to regulate your block, you get twisted
I'm easin through your a** like a dick, now it's on, b**h
Welcome to the ill sh** where n***as collapse in anger
Provokes the Rhime Son to release one out of the chamber
Crossin out our sh** in the studio, foolio, you panic
And get your a** sunk like the Titanic
[?] up the cavi, proceedin to cause the ruckus
Meditate with the evil and the devil couldn't touch us
It's Prode'je and Rhime Son, Rhime Son and Prode'je
Extendin like a clip, hittin dips, no sense in tryin me
Ain't no love, focus on the realest
No future in your frontin cause you muthaf**as feel this
It's S.C.C. and Mouthpiece, so behold another coma
I'm in your f**in lung like pneumonia
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Prode'je]
f**in with the realer body-bag-filler-type of n***as
k**ers that have you n***as chockin on your livers
S.C. could never play the back so the wack I confronted
co*ked the 12-guage and head-hunted
Had to be a flea cause you f**in with that gee
Hav's got the S, Prod's got the C.C.
Gettin wreck, fools, you get dealth with
Like them n***as Mobb Deep said: you be 'shook' like a earthquake
Studio gees I refuse to see
When 87 times n***as was accused to g
Of bein foulish, but I'ma leave you swoll' like a callous
Cancelled like Dallas, knock yo a** off balance
I put my foot up in that a**, bro, you didn't know
That I can bust your sh** like a pimple
And when it's over you be dead, gee
I got your number
And s**er-a** n***as goin under
[CHORUS]
[Prode'je]
That's right, muthaf**a
Nineteen-muthaf**in-ninety-six
That S with them 2 C's is gettin wreck on that a**
Finna dig a foot off in yo muthaf**in a**, n***a
Punk muthaf**as thought we couldn't come back with that real sh**
With that shoot-to-k** sh**
Havikk the muthaf**in Rhime Son, Mouthpiece and Prode'je
Finna break all you muthaf**as down
That's right
Finna break all you muthaf**as down
Cause you punk-a** n***as get dealt with