[Hook: sample]
Hey man, it's real
Knowin that

Hey man, it's real
Knowin that
Hey man, it's real

Knowin that
Hey man, it's real
Knowin that


[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
I put you up ^!$$%, don't trip

You did your dirt for that mark
And he left you in the dark
Sky-divin' in a bullet-proof parachute

No remorse, left you hangin
Easy aimin, lock down shoot
The Glock sounds tootin

One minute til' I'm in it
Got a business, still they $$# to death
And get my scrill up in the corner, none left

Shots out to my ^!$$% in the pen.
Didn't switch, didn't act (*##$
Try to stop a ^!$$% from gettin rich

You could dig a ditch, but you won't find %#@!
Left you in flames, kept the roach
You can smell the %#@! when I approach

I be off that stanky sack of indo-nesia
It's a evidential
I leave you hungry, eat yo cheese up

Heard you was sweet, like a Almond Joy
And I know you heard of me
Cause I'm a West-Coast Bad Boy

And I'm a sick ^!$$%, "Sicc made! "
It gets real as I pull the pin out this grenade!
"Body Parts" like the movie

Old school Uzi
Rip yo arms out from the elbows
^!$$% I smell those green leaves

The six thieves
A twenty-sack of green weed is all I need
I make you bleed, I take yo cream

I know you got it from the "Ice Cream Man"
Before you make that transaction
I need the cash in my hand

And if you don't, we can do the murder-man dance
Under any circumstance, I'm a have yo hands


[Hook]

[Verse 2: Master P]

Brotha Lynch, I'm a make you a deal you can't refuse
My phone tapped
The new code for halfs and wholes is t-shirts and tennis-shoes

From the yay, I got the sneakers
Sixty-five for a shoe ^!$$%, if you got the tweakers
Meet me down-south, New Orleans we bumpin

I get this (*##$ jumpin, you got the money
I got the g's, flip the ki's, and the o-z's
We could blow some weed

And talk about this %#@! smokin some trees
But watch yo back, keep yo handle bar @@#!ed
Too many Federal Agents pretend to be hustlers, but really cops

Send it across the border, ^!$$% like Taco Bell
Put it in a plane, a boat, UPS, ^!$$% I could get it there
I'm surrounded by @@#!tails, I mean hoes in mini-skirts

Ain't no free dick out here, it's time to put in work
Put these hoes on a Greyhound, fool if it's goin down
And make 'em bring it back, from my hood, to your town

And it's all good, ^!$$% it's like wax
And we could slang these records like mother$#&@in crack
And if they bumpin, we gotta keep 'em jumpin

Cause it's all about the cheddar, the cheese, and the money

[Hook]


[Verse 3: Mr. Serv-On]
A criminal tatted front-to-back
Always 'bout my jack
Doin a dope-deal, forget to bring yo strap

Let it be fact, I blast first
I know no ^!$$% that smart in a hearse
Who cursed, my dope and money life
A Eagle with blood stains in the scope
Be my wife, live yo life

Til' death do us part
Start my gangsta bounce
Thirty-six ounce, to a ki
Got this T-O-D in ya face
Now tell me the $#&@ else you got free

A thousand pounds of that skunk
Ready to jump, smokin everything I can, huh
Master P, and Brotha Lynch Hung
Let me serve some dick to these ^!$$%s with they tongues out
Eighty-five in the south

Twenty-four in the east
See my scrilla, blow like yeast
Cross my fingers, pull my wife
It's hot tonight
A murder case, got away with a hundred g's
And a couple of wild geese, headed west

Capiche?
A hundred clunkers waitin my arrival
Dirty... survival

[Hook: to fade]