I need it from the top, this is history baby, Commissioner Steve Stout, Lenny, Godson, D-Block, Bravehearts, what up, yeah, yeah Yo, yo, ain't nothin' but trouble, God, when I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts, and the double R, don't make me let the machine off, this is methadone music that you can lean off, made you look, the remix with me up on it, I copped you, now I break weed up on it, and everything is real, I see, like my diggin' that bend home, but they only got a jail I.D., I help the game, it ain't help me, I'm top five, dead or alive, and that's just off one LP, and I still buzz, they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz, they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz, they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz, they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz, they feel cuz, cuz they know the flow's ill, just like me, I'm still buzz they shoot, I made you look, you a slave to a page in my rhyme book, gettin' big money, playboy your time's up, where them gangstas at, where them dimes at I'm from the school of hard knocks, sneak peeks, and low blows, where X's mark spots, and kitchens mark O's, where love's gon' get ya, and hate is gon' snitch ya, and fingers squeeze triggers like boa constrictors It's the, Mr. Looter, Jada and Nas, and our bullets give you a deep tissue massage, so hear the song and dance while I make these ends, you never stood half a chance like Siamese twins They shoot, look in the barrel, then he made the front page of the Miami Herald or Chi Tribune, nozzles with solid doom, we in that A-Town Journal as violent goons You should print my information, quote my rhyme, and keep me in between these New York and L.A. times, I'm just a victim of society, it's Chris the Menace, with most out on the streets than evicted tenants They shoot, I made you look, you a slave to a page in my rhyme book, gettin' big money, playboy your time's up, where them gangstas at, where them dimes at Jungle, Wiz, Nashawn, we got them scared, look, we got them scared, they runnin' Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blicky, the biscuit, the burner, the heat, the toaster, the twister, you meetin' your owner, the banger, the hammer, the flamers, I aim at the cannons, I can you, manhandling you, you'll be famous, I cancel you, and cut, that's the end of your movie Pretendin' you actin' like you and your men to come whoosh with me, my tennis shoes Gucci, old school, pea soup green, Jean Lee suit on, Viva Clico Champagne, Friday the 13th, my CD drop, I rhyme to more bass than EZ Rock, I'm Jason, call a P.D., watch them bravehearts, Jungle and Wiz and Nashawn Illwear, Rasta, Lay, never bailin' his face on TV and pictures, and we been up in, sorry, I done made you wait long, glad them fakes gone, we shoot, squeezin' them triggers when Luda beside me, me and Kiss get loonies, and we set the style speed, tell him, hold his head, God's son got him, we made y'all look from San Quentin to Rikers Island to Green, sing, sing, run