[Chorus]
If you boys got beef we can
Roll wit it

In da club or da street we can
Go wit it
It don't make me none

Blow for blow wit it
Crack his head wit a gun
I'ma sho split it


[Project Pat]
In Hollywood at the stop sign

Watchin out for one time
Clean on them things
^!$$%s hate cause I'm bout mine

I'm on that weed
So the car's kinda smokey
The glock's in the stash

Cause I'm dodgin the pokey
Its hard on tha street
^!$$%s livin like a catfish

A project killa, four kids
and a fat (*##$
Try to flip e'ry quarter ounce

Ain't no credit barred
We accept cash, merchandise
or ya ebit(EBT) card

Like to start %#@!
At the club we be flexin
And we'll kill a (*##$

At these hoes we be beckin
North North to the full
My game they respectin

A rope to the bumper
You get drug by yo neck-in
Don't come around here

You'z betta reckin
You get ya $$# blowed off
For playin and jeckin

Down in this dirty
Only real muh$#&@as rule
Hoes wearin flirty skirties

Young ^!$$%s act a fool

[Chorus x2]


[La Chat]
If there's some ana to handle

I'm gonna take care of my biz
I got a scope on ya body
I'm aimin straight for yo wig

I love to show out on hoes
I love to cut up wit ^!$$%s
These (*##$es always get wrong

So I love pullin tha trigga
And since you hoes won't learn
I got some lessons to teach

You betta call up the pastor
He got a sermon to preach
I ain't wit that arguin and cussin and fussin

(*##$in and fightin
I'm buckin choppas off top
Committed to takin yo life'n

La Chat a mac slash killa
Only speakin the real-a
I'm tryna let you know its on

For you violate a ^!$$%
A (*##$ be quick to talk %#@!
But do you mean what you say

A real killa don't be talkin
They just be on they way
I don't think you wanna get down

You boys ain't ready for beef
There ain't nowhere you can hide
I called out an APD

This ain't game that ya playin
These (*##$es comin up slayin
I keep my ears to tha street
So hoe you watch what ya sayin


[Chorus x2]

[Project Pat]
They lock me up just like Tupac
And I went platinum

Layed it down for a calendar
Now right back at em
Took my game weighed it up
On a triple beam
^!$$%s rob, kill, murder, steal

For that ghetty green
U.S. Marshal at my folks house
Wanna kill me dead
Wanna see me in a pine box
Bullet in my head

Police mane I ain't did %#@!
Why you hatin this
Ghetto thugs love my rap songs
They relate to this
Swingin fists Knock ya eyeball
Clean out ya face

Shoulda known it was %#@! starters
All in tha place
Young ^!$$%s on that powder
Gon off tha bay
Sneakin tones in da club
You could get blown away
Its a muh$#&@in clique thang

Represent ya hood
Slangin cane makin plenty change
All to the good
Smokin blunt after blunt
Pound after pound
Throw a dead body in tha trunk
High weave ya down


[Chorus]