Westside, bad boy, you know who the realest is We bring it to you, that's right, ha ha First off, didn't click, you claim Westside, when we ride, come in quick, we game You claim to be a player, but I f***ed your wife We bust on bad boys, f*** for life Plus Puffy tryna see me reap hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia, some more We keep on coming while we running for your jewels Steady, keep on busting at them fools You know the rules, Lil' Ceaser, go ask your homie how I leave you Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces Now be deceased, Lil' Kim, don't f*** around with real G's Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets So keep peace, I let the m**** go, it's on for life Don't let the Westside ride the night, ha ha Bad boy m****, get your cat's pill, you know, see *** your b**** when you see Tupac Call the cops when you see Tupac, uh Who shot me? Bunch of punks didn't finish Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace F*** hit em up Check this out, you m**** know what time it is I don't even know why I'm on this track They ain't even on my level, I'ma let my lil' homies ride on you Made-ass bad boy m****, feel Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo Biggie Smalls just got dropped, Lil' Moo passed the mat And let me hit him in his back Frank Wright need to get spanked, right, for setting tracks Little accident murderer, and I ain't never Poisonous cats attack when I'm serving ya Spank the shank, get hostile when I gank Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint Puffy weaker than a f*** block, I'm running And I'm smoking Junior Mafia in front of you F*** the ready power, tucking my guests under my Eddie Bauer Your clout petty sour, I push packages every hour Hit em up *** your b**** when you see Tupac Call the cops when you see Tupac, uh Who shot me? Bunch of punks didn't finish Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace F*** hit em up We plow, we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle, all you m**** getting killed with your mouths open Trying to come up on for me, you in the clouds, open Smoking dope, it's like a Sherm on, think they learn to fly But they burn, f***, you deserve to die Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me Who the f*** living for me while you f*** with me? I'm a self-made millionaire, thug living out of prison, pistols in the air Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch And beg a b**** to sleep in the house Now it's all about Versace, you copy my style Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled Now I'm about to set the record straight F***, I'm still the thug that you love to hate F***, I hit em up I'm from N.E.W., Jers, with plenty murders and curs No point to comment, we bring the drama to all you herds Now we check the scenario Little C's, I bring you fake G's Sit your knees, coppin' pleas and degenerio Little gimmicks, you coked up or doped up Kiss your little junior, I'm a clique smoked up What the f*** is you stupid? I take money, crash them a**es through Brooklyn With my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' your block With 15, until you lie, outlawin' my fear clique Movin' up another notch in your box top spots Get mobbed and dropped, all your fake a** East coast props, brainstormed and locked Use a B-biter, a Pac style taker I tell you to your face, you ain't *** but a faker So for the alizé with a chaser Bout to get murdered for the paper E.D. I mean the processing of the caper Like a loke, with low season and a choke Hunters don't smoke, we ain't no Joke thug like, better be known We approachin', in the wide open, gun smokin' No need for hopin', it's a battle lost I got em' forced, as soon as the funk is poppin' off Hit em' up Now you tell me who won I see them, they run They don't wanna see us Whole junior mafia clique, dressin' up tryna be us They gon' be the mob when we always on our job We millionaires, killin' ain't fair but somebody gotta do it Oh yeah, Mob D, you wanna f*** You little young a**, don't wanna eat Don't wanna eat, got sickle cell or somethin' Have a seizure, a heart attack, you better back When you get smacked It's how we do it on our side Any a** from New York that wanna bring it, bring it But we ain't singin', we bringin' drama You and your a** mama We gon' f*** Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie Then everybody had to open they mouth with a f***in' opinion Well this how we gon' do this Mob D, Biggie Boy as a staff, record label and as a f***in' crew And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy, then f*** you too Chino XL, f*** you too All you m****** Take money Take money All of y'all m****** die slow My fofo make sure all y'all kids don't grow You m****** can't be us or see us Thug life ride us west side till we die Out here in California, m****** we warn you, we'll bomb on you We do our job, you think you my m****** Ain't nothin' but killers in the real f***in' fillers Our ***s go triple and four quadruple Laugh cause our staff got guns in they f***in' bellies You know how it is when we drop records, they fail Feel it? We the realest We Bad Boy