[Intro: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly]
You see, in this world there are two kinds of people my friend
Those with loaded guns, and those who dig
You dig

[Verse 1: JAY]
Excuse me fellas, make way 'cause the Don back
Yeah you’re the shit but that’s because all your songs crap
Fuck a contract, only got my contacts
I’m on a different level, up a higher echelon lad
Fuck boom bap my dawg this is bomb-bap
You bombastic, top spastic you fuckin' bong rat
And cunts dare say I decided to drop back
I’m fiending for the wide ass pockets, you want the wrong WAP
I watch it come and go, run into the zone
Make love to ladies, nevеr fuck a hoe, that’s the fuckin code
Nеver busted the chrome but you never fuckin know
One day might run in your home and make something glow
The rap Russel Crowe, live by the hustle yo
The rum and coke make my frontal lobe fuckin explode
Tell these newbies “man don’t make any trouble bro”
Because my bars straight Crakk like K-Double O
White boy burn you up but I ain’t Ku Klux
I’m a different breed cause I don’t wanna be like you cunts
The rap game’s like chess, pawns are always first to move up
And brodie I’m a King, didn’t use luck
That was just me, always rolling one deep
And my dawg I always shine, spit sun till tongue bleed
Fuck a mic gimme one beat, and best believe
My words priceless, still put ‘em for out free though
You getting nothing off that shit you spit
And Death’s got a busy schedule but I think that I can fit you in
The price people pay got me enraged
Everyone’s got their money out, nobody is safe
Mean I got this on lock, John Hancock I jot lots
Grinding non stop, give a fuck if I’m on top
I spit hot shots, so tell me you from flop
Talk that jazz, 1-2 dog I’m John Stock-ton

[Verse 2: Nizzi]
Somebody pass the microphone cause Niz is due for spitting
Who's this gimmick, shooting misses, get these chickens shewed like pigeons
When I grasp my violent tome, get bitches thinking who's this villian
Smooth with rhythm, shooting lyrics, moving distant, move this instant
Cause rhyme the scope, and tunes the clip, with cuban links, my shoes don't fit your stupid twigs
I'm Budhas kid, but grew to spit, so lose your pitch
I think I might just blow, removed the clip, and threw that shit at you ya bitch
So move real quick, just blew ya script to fumes ya prick
JAY sent the beat I got my notebook out
And I poached the sound till it moaned and shout, "Ayo Nizzi keep those vocals down"
Think your show was crowned, but get belittled for your throat and vowels
Better close that loathing mouth or show me poems that cloak your doubt
Most your quotes are foul, throwing your floaters out of bounds
Hoping it goes in, I just bounce over you posers, explode the crowd
I hear you choking, like you just ghosted a potent cloud
You're just a novice posted up, but homie's slowly going down
Yeah