B-Legit:

Bitch I got beam like Scotty

Leave you spotty

When I point this aim at your brain

And leave them hollow thangs in your body

Lodi-dodi I drinks Bacardi

Gets dick hard drunk

When I'm off that skunk punk

And you don't wanna dance tingo tango

I let my left right mingle mangle

To your jaw southpaw

It oughta be a law against these thangs I throw

About to lay some shit down with Celly Cel and Bo

From the Garden Blocc

Hillside got they Glock

Mack 10's

Mobb shit'll neva end

I'm tryin' to have it all

So I ball 'till I'm gold

Mobbin' through a sixty usin' cruise control

C-Bo:

I'm fuckin' wit that click nigga

That big nigga on the block

With Glocks, Rag Tops

Cut thangs on them gold knocks

Better watch your back 'cuz we strapped with teks

Push up in a blue Lex'

And dump caps to your neck

Mobb shit

Bustaz all die

Leather trench

Brim and two nines

Costume of a killa

At your bed side holdin' on two millas

Uggh we bust them teks close range

Livin' estranged

Called insane

'Cuz when it's on it's on site no matter night or
day

And you can't fuck wit these

Get smothered with a half a key

Bitch

Celly Cel:

Give me the ball and I'ma fill the lane like
'Fenney

Hardaway 'cuz I'm out to get every penny

Any nigga disrespectin' when I'm checkin' for my
scrilla

I know'm stilla wig splittin' killa ain't no
realla

Nigga realla than me

Mobbin' through your hood and takin' heads

Slumpin' hangin out the windows dumpin'

And shakin' 'Feds

So mind your own

Cross the line and see how quick they gone

Head blown decapitated caught slippin' in my zone

Fuckin' with this Mobb shit

Niggaz get they wig split

C-Bo:

Uggh it's the murder man posted at the front door

And when they comes I dumps with both four-four's

Letin' 'em have it 'cuz I'm static

Dumpin the grass

Killed his ass

And then kneel down and get my last laugh

Punk bitch shouldn't have tripped

Now he lay dead in the ditch

Ass ripped

Suckin' on his own dick

Money talk

Bullshit walk

Fool this ain't no sunshine

Three killas

One garden blocc, two hillside

B-Legit:

This shit's fucked and I am tag teamin' with the
murder man

And that'll hurt a man

Niggaz doin' dirt and

All you got to do is hop your ass in my 'Cut

We'll be back tomorrow mornin'

Cell, you comin' or what?

I got this gut feelin'

About to make the killin' for a livin'

The contract said the nigga wore a wire tap

And they want him dead

A hundred G's for his head

And leave a bloody glove down where that body
bled

Celly Cel:

Red rum is what I'm hummin' as I hit the fence

Homicide looked for prints but found no evidence

Stuffed his head in the duffel bag and zipped it
up

Them ballas want to see his face before they
break us off a cut

There it is cashed him like some chips at Reno

Slid us a briefcase full of crispy ass C-Notes

Made the hit

Got the scrilla

Gone without a trace

B behind the wheel

And Bo Loc cuffed to the briefcase

Yo' nigga Cell got the chopper 'case they on my
trail

If it's a tail then I'ma leave a 50 empty shells

Pistol smokin'

These niggaz know we ain't no jokin'

Split up the tokens

And I'm back in the hood loccin'

Fuckin' with this Mobb shit

Niggaz get they wig split

B-Legit:

Yeah, like a real hillside strangler, yola
slanger, tryin to get a buck but if I'm fucked in
the gas chamber.

The autopsy red, them niggaz had some heat fo yo
ass.

And never leave your block without your glock,
clip and mask.

Haters hatin but its all game related and that's
what we do bitch