Shyne, gang land, murder inc.
Alright, turn the beat up
I see you ma, in your thoughsand doller weave
Master p style ? on ya sleeve
Alright, jimmy shoo shoes on ya feet?
I know tired of guys who try to lie
Forget about that, lets go!
I mean really, i been gettin money
Since niggas is rappin for me
'cause you don't look like, you got your head right
I just hope that you can give head right
Breezin through XL, headlights
New York is mine, relax your mind
Ring down to the necklace
'cause all i want to do is stuff coke in they breastes
Sit back, lift stakes, count money
In the zone, roll tha doe
To take this dick, and take this script
And flick this shit, base this shit
Up in harry winston ma, try some rings
How you feel like you is prince di
So much cuts on your wrist
Extensive trips, expensive rips
You ain't seen nothing like this
If i ain't that nigga, shit you fuckin right
Who gon' cop them hos? (Po)
Who gon rock them clothes? (po)
Who gon' pop them fros? (Po)