I see I'm peeking out ready to rumble

So now I'm speaking out

Against those

That flip the way the story goes

One never knows

Who be flippin the script

Whatever the traitors name

My aim is dunk em like

I'm Chris Webber



So many phony smilin faces

Traces of slander

Got em comin outta funny places

I had it an hear em

Talkin loud behind my back

What was good for the hood

Is what they say is wack

I take the stabbin & grin

When I'm hit

Cause I know the suckas smile

When I leave em

What I'm comin wit



I cant complain about the money

Although the suckas in the back

They talkin shit

An laughin like its somethin funny

I aim to make changes

An never change

Unless its for the better

Cause I always been a go better



Clean hustler

Rhyme instead of muscle ya

Born when ya thinkin I'm gone

The terror era is on...



I stand accused

To the crews

I paid my dues



I stand accused

I refuse

To stand and lose



I stand accused

To the news

I kick da blues

I stand accussed

I refuse



I hear em talkin & walkin

Behind my back I'm attacked

Fuck the knife in the back

Cause it feels like they got an axe



Yeah I can dig it wit a shovel

I never dig dirt wit the devil

Instead I'm on that other level



But I took time to reach down

To help the black & brown



I never stood around

I hear em talkin behind

My mind

In a ocean of sharks

And a back full a hackmarks



They say I'm fallin off

Yeah, they better call it off

& get muscle

& find another hustle quick

Sick n tired of critics

But I can take a hit

I'm all man

Alley oopin the vocal on jams

But they dont know it

They can blow it



& take a puff of dis joint

I see I'm kissin it off the cuff

Behind the back

I'm pullin axes and blades out the arms & the legs

Still my fellas get paid

The terror era is on



Fuck a critic/fuck fuck a critic

All the fuckin critics

Can get the did dit



All a fuckin critic does is

Draw a fuckin line



Cross a line and dis my rhyme

& then they ass is mine



If you find a critic dead

Remember what I said

Who killed a critic

Guess the crew did it



Say paybacks a crazy ass message

Sent to the writers who criticize

They're fuckin wit afreedom fighter



Who raises flags

& dragged the klan in bodybags

I hung em up in Missisippi & bum fuck

This is Chuck so what the hell

You think I did it for

To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas

And lemme let em I met em

I told my boys forget em

An what they did got rid of me

Negative

But 94 got stunts & blunts in da mix

I hear the crowd fallin vic

To old ghetto tricks

But if I wasn't your cousin

Wed leave em in the dozens

Of sellin out & bellin out

Half pint 40 ounce

Announce to the rest

We had a fall out



I never took a drink

Never took a hit or bribe

Or got spread by what a silly

Rumor said

Never sang or gang banged

Sold out or rented hip hop

Cause I know when to stop