Verse 1: {Violent J} Violent J servin' ghetto hard street %#@!. You know it's potent when the funky $$# beat hit. Rollin' the dice and we's hittin' point. "ICP," outta southwest Detroit. Rollin' wit' a gang of 20 street hoods. Hookers on my back 'cause I'm sellin' them cheap goods. Bookin' through the motha$#&@in' alleyway, they can't catch Violent crazy $$# psychopath J. But, I guess I wasn't so crazy this time. Now I'm chillin' in the back of car 49. Ya ask why I'm grippin' that metal. They put a man on the moon, but can't do %#@! for the ghetto. I look at all that and it makes me sick. I wanna grab them motha$#&@as, make 'em swallow a brick. So, I grab anybody I can find. Beat a fiend in the head wit' a !@#$ stop sign. Flex one of us and I'mma find you, bullet rips through your chest and hits a (*##$ behind you. Killed two birds wit' one stone. Your layin' in the street wit' a bullet in your dome. And to them hillbillies listenin' down south, talk %#@! about the city wit' my nuts in ya wife's mouth. And keep stringin' on your banjo, 'cause we don't like that %#@! where I come from bro. Now the ICP stands alone in the southwest ghetto zone.

Interlude #1: Southwest Detroit is demented one's home. "Ah, for Christ's sakes! Ah, you don't talk about that garbage out here! That's for the hell-hole where you come from. This is the good part of town. We let you deal with that type of bull%#@!! Your problems don't concern us. Go home now, well go on!"


Chorus #1: Southwest Detroit is demented one's home. "The cops just don't know what to do!" [4x]


Verse 2: {Violent J} Jumpsteady, Rudeboy and the BSR got my back OG, you won't make it far. I got my .9 in my gut and it's startin' to hurt. Where can you keep a gat wearin' Skidz and a T-Shirt? Now I'm roamin' like a true ghetto thug. Fiends on the sack 'cause I'm boomin' that crack. "I know you heard aloud what J said," when I told you that I sold it to your (*##$, that base head. Know you can't argue wit' the truth. If I hit you in ya mouth, you're gonna spit out a tooth. And I laugh at a motha$#&@in' cop, sittin' wit' ya fat $$# in a doughnut shop. At the party when the ICP shows their face, Billy Clubs and handcuffs all over the place. "We're here to protect and protect we do." Then I ask, "Who the $#&@ protects us from you?" Cops will be beatin' on someone, shot a mute in the back, he told him not to run. And the motha$#&@in' Black Panthers know it. That's why it's the cops now that are catchin' the bullets. I'm runnin', I'm runnin', we'll end the chase when Jumpsteady puts his gauge in your motha$#&@in' face. *Gunshot* Mind your own, in the southwest ghetto zone.

Interlude #2: {2 Dope} Hey yo, G! Man who the $#&@ you think you are man? You know who you're $#&@in' wit'? The IC motha$#&@in' P, G! So, if I was you I'd step the $#&@ off 'fore you get shot, boy! Keep runnin' your lips, see what happens motha$#&@a! Yeah, G! See what I'm sayin' dawg? Now what's up wit' that %#@!?


Chorus #2: Come to Delray, a drive-by ain't %#@!! "The cops just don't know what to do." [4x]


Interlude #3: "These are my homeboys, vato. See, our homies here is all we have here, man. I love 'em. They love me back, man. We barrio."

Verse 3: Yeah, so I guess I'm a bad guy, 'cause I cuss a lot, I say $#&@ a lot. And I rap to tell you how I'm feelin' when I'm in the old spot, sit up and we wheelin'. Through Delray, call it Hellray, it's where the ICP stay. (Yo, J) And the forces always talk %#@!, get beat. And if I'm outnumbered, I gots a gauge in the back seat. 'Cause when I'm feelin' like a mack dad, in the trunk of my ride I got weapons in the back that I never had. A thousand mother$#&@ers in the back, make the car sag. Ronnie's fat $$#, make the whole damn muffler drag. Rappin' to a sack chasin' hottie, I told the (*##$ I ain't never even seen a Maserati. Ever sell out to a freak? !#@* NO!! That's why I'll tell ya that I love to box wit' a hoe. When the check comes I ignore it. And the (*##$ is gonna ask me to $#&@in' pay for it. I gave the hoe an empty twelve-pack. Take your $$# to the sto' and bring some Faygo back. That's all I pay for (*##$, so get the $#&@ on hoe. Stick around, I got some'n you can suck on hoe. Violent J won't be banked by no nappy headed, barefooted, crack headed sewer !@$#. You gotta handle your own in the southwest ghetto zone.


Chorus #3: "The cops just don't know what to do." Murderous, lot of crime, causin' much destruction. "The cops just don't know what to do." [2x]


Outro: And to all the sets runnin' in southwest Detroit: Good luck and stay strong. Latin Counts, Young Guns, CFP, X-Men, to the Cobras and DT, ICP. They got uzis, they got shotguns, they got explosives, they got shotguns. [4x]