[Verse 1: Styles P]
I'm off one, but I'm on one also
Tryin' to win the game; stop the clock, let the ball roll
Who wanna get, popped in they torso?
And whipped in they face 'til they eye and they jaw broke?
No love for the other side; tricks like Biggie said
Ain't a Blood, but I'm paintin' the whole city red
Get rich or die tryin', like Fifty said
Load it up, pop, take that, like Diddy said
Hit you while you drinkin' Patron, to make the liquor red
Told you when up I'm in the zone, it ain't a sicker head
Couple homies used to be real, but then the bread got 'em
I give all of these rappers red bottoms
Who want the ones with the spikes, too?
Not in your shoes; in your face, if I don't like you
Kill the top ten on the list, cause I'm the type to
Then the next ten on the list, if they nice, too
I clap, I clap, I clap, for them racks on racks on racks
And whoever's on the top; when you come down, bring your strap
Cause you know I run the bottom, where we let them shit's go black
And when D-Block hit you up, you ain't fuckin' headed back
Yeah, it's Ghost town; most time, nigga, more or less
American muscle, like the Corvettes
African hustle, like the greatest in the door steps
You might of won some battles, cause we ain't been to war yet..