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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Vocals
Beanie Sigel
Beanie Sigel
Vocals
Isaac Hayes
Isaac Hayes
Sampled Artist
Jadakiss
Jadakiss
Vocals
Pain In Da Ass
Pain In Da Ass
Vocals
Sauce Money
Sauce Money
Vocals
Sheek Louch
Sheek Louch
Vocals
Styles P
Styles P
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Erick Sermon
Erick Sermon
Songwriter
Isaac Hayes
Isaac Hayes
Songwriter
David Styles
David Styles
Songwriter
Sean Jacobs
Sean Jacobs
Songwriter
Jason Phillips
Jason Phillips
Songwriter
Dwight Grant
Dwight Grant
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
Todd Gaither
Todd Gaither
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Erick Sermon
Erick Sermon
Producer
Darryl "Pop" Trotter
Darryl "Pop" Trotter
Co-Producer
Joe Quinde
Joe Quinde
Mixing Engineer
Patrick Viala
Patrick Viala
Recording Engineer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Fuck, shit is real right here
Roc-A-Fella, Lox
Takin' the streets over, motherfuckers
Don't get it twisted
[Verse 2]
Yeah, hey yo, hey yo, hey yo
Yo, shut the fuck up 'fore I blast and ban from TV your ass
With no mask, look at the camera like what?
Yeah, I did it like them sick white boys, the core committed
To the death of me, I spaz like I'm on ecstasy
Drop a hunnid bars for real like I'm lookin' for a deal
If I ain't hungry, who the fuck is? I'm worse than them African kids
I ain't straight till my numbers match the Motorola bids
And walk the streets of NY like I don't fuckin' care
If I ain't strapped, that means I took 'em off, my Nike Airs
Get off mine, y'all talk shit like little children
Wanna ride mine like bitches when I walk up in the building
'Cause I catch tans in the winter for wild whores
Jet skiing while you keep warm at corner stores
I make it hot, flooding your block the best way
Professionally, they'll find poison in your X-ray
As I get roasted lookin' at Biggie posted on my wall
Takin' shots of Louie till I fall
Nothin' to lose, just load the clip up in the groove
I kick rhymes to the poster till I swear Big move
My team you would think was on Thorazine
How we floss and don't give a fuck what it's costing
[Verse 3]
Yo, yo, pressure bust pipes, it's time to apply it now
Pick out a quiet town and tie it down
Make **** lock it down, y'all know where to buy it now
Beanie Mac, I supply it now
My squad roll deep in foreign cars with two seats
Couple of fives, a six, a few Jeeps
Bag enough coke to last a few weeks
In case **** wanna test, vest and few heats
You really wanna test my name and test my game?
Until you have me test my aim
Y'all **** nuts like testicles
Hit you up in your apartment building vestibule
Perhaps it's best for you to keep on walking
Heat from the Larkin keep on sparking
Platinum prezzie, Bezzie, stay sparkling
Cop off the lot never see me at the auction
Pint of Bacardi darken when it's hawking
Out on the strip until I reach the margin
Not tryna meet the sergeant at the precinct
Eating cheese sandwiches down for the weekend
Locked up with dirty white boys and Ricans
[Verse 4]
Now if I kill you I'll probably do ten in the box
Come down on appeal, then I'm killing your pops
You feeling the Lox, ****, why you grilling the Lox?
If this rap shit don't work, ****'s stealin' the spot
You bring it to me I gotta lose your family
Gangsters don't die, they get chubby and move to Miami
Shit is deep now, dawg, but it gets deeper
Fuck it, the weather's nice and the price is much cheaper
I put it on tape, you gon' buy it
I put it the bag, you gon' try it, y'all **** can't deny it
Lot of cats still tryna study my last bounce
Tell you what, get a beat tape and a half ounce
They got me where I can't be without my large gat
Teflon long sleeve and my hard hat
Don't matter if I'm opening up or headline
Doin' the speed limit or pushin' red lines
Six months in the county or fed time
I'ma be the Kiss, ****, until it's bedtime
Anything I'm on is a classic
Any **** ever had beef with, son is a bastard
Any time I spit, spit acid, L-O-X
Ruff Ryder, you heard? We got the game mastered
[Verse 5]
I told you the pain was comin', you wouldn't listen
You tried to play me like a joke?
Now who got the last laugh?
Now take these bullets with you to Hell
[Verse 6]
You motherfuckers is sick, don't think Sauce the shit
So many **** on my nuts, I thought I lost my dick
Picture me fallin' off, I'm camera shy
Hammers fly, might miss you but your man'll die
What's the difference? Either way I'm stunning your crew
I fuck to win, y'all **** comin' to lose
Somethin' to prove? Spit it, we can have a spray off
I lay off whack **** and kill 'em on my day off
Ain't nothin' for me to bust a tray off
Murder the whole month of April, ****, just to take May off
Run with more Germans than Adolf, you light crews
Now I concentrate on your camp like Jews
Flow hot like a heatwave, bitch
Whips fatter than them shits they beat slaves with
I'm a mill' stacking **** who pull quick, still packin'
For you Phil Jackson **** on that bullshit
[Verse 7]
I don't give a fuck who you are so fuck who you are
I don't care about a pretty bitch, watch or a car
I don't care about your block and whoever you shot
I don't care about your album and whenever it drop
I don't care about your past, if I did I would've asked
I'm too busy lightin' dro with a whole lot of hash
Far as this rap shit, I'm ten steps ahead of ****
Shootin' backwards just for practice
Ride or die, ****, hoppin' in your casket
'Bout to go to hell with you, blow the L with you
Tell the whole world I'm spittin', let 'em know the shells hit you
I tell **** quick, suck dick and get a Glock
My name ring bells like Sunday at 12 o'clock
I'm half-past seven, bust six then eleven
You know me, slide my man my joint, say reload me
I'm Ruff Ryder and pop a fella for Roc-A-Fella
Screaming what the fuck? Spending mozzarella
[Verse 8]
I know, Pop, you can't stand us 'cause we cock them hammers
Run in your crib, no prisoners, pop your grandma
Locked in the slammer, nope, popped up in Atlanta
Crossed up in a drop, I popped up the antenna
Whoa, watch your manners when my veins pop like scanners
Like raindrops, you hear the thunder when I cock the cannon
Big thing, big chains, ain't shit changed
Get brain in the four-dot-six Range
Shit, mane, switch lanes
Every town I hit switch planes, bitch, flip big 'caine
Flow with no cut, you take it in vein to the brain
Motherfuckers is nodding and throwing up, you know that
You don't wanna owe that man
He'll hit you, get the picture? Kodak, man
Got a love for war, I don't floss no more
I just sit on my money till I'm above the law
How the fuck you gon' stop us with your measly asses?
We don't stop at the tolls, we got easy passes, ****
Multiple cars and divas with D classes
Iceberg sweat with IB on the elastic
Shit, bitch, what the fuck?
You heard me?
Put some more beat on that joint
Written by: David Styles, Dwight Grant, Erick Sermon, Isaac Hayes, JAY-Z, Jason Phillips, Sean Jacobs, T. Gaither
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