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[Young Prod] Yeah Puttin it down like this, bitch S.C.C. back at yo ass, nigga Fuck 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 niggas shell-shocked and they die [CHORUS] SongtexteO.G.'s get smoked B.B.'s get loced with straps so perhaps niggas get dealt with If caps get peeled and niggas get served with straps so perhaps niggas 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 ass like a dick, now it's on, bitch Welcome to the ill shit where niggas collapse in anger Provokes the Rhime Son to release one out of the chamber Crossin out our shit in the studio, foolio, you panic And get your ass 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 muthafuckas feel this It's S.C.C. and Mouthpiece, so behold another coma I'm in your fuckin lung like pneumonia [CHORUS] [VERSE 3: Prode'je] Fuckin with the realer body-bag-filler-type of niggas Killers that have you niggas chockin on your livers S.C. could never play the back so the wack I confronted Cocked the 12-guage and head-hunted Had to be a flea cause you fuckin with that gee Hav's got the S, Prod's got the C.C. Gettin wreck, fools, you get dealth with Like them niggas Mobb Deep said: you be 'shook' like a earthquake Studio gees I refuse to see When 87 times niggas was accused to g Of bein foulish, but I'ma leave you swoll' like a callous Cancelled like Dallas, knock yo ass off balance I put my foot up in that ass, bro, you didn't know That I can bust your shit like a pimple And when it's over you be dead, gee I got your number And sucker-ass niggas goin under [CHORUS] [Prode'je] That's right, muthafucka Nineteen-muthafuckin-ninety-six That S with them 2 C's is gettin wreck on that ass Finna dig a foot off in yo muthafuckin ass, nigga Punk muthafuckas thought we couldn't come back with that real shit with that shoot-to-kill shit Havikk the muthafuckin Rhime Son, Mouthpiece and Prode'je finna break all you muthafuckas down That's right Finna break all you muthafuckas down Cause you punk-ass niggas get dealt with Aus Songtexte Mania