| Get up and do the biz, our style is the wild |
| Hit you with a spell whether Jew or gen-tile |
| When you enterin' the realm |
| You find me at the helm |
| Still standin' like abandoned buildings |
| In the southern part of BX, can old school it like a T-Rex |
| Ya well advanced connect dance with thoughts |
| Deep like Barry White’s throat box |
| I bet you those cops mix |
| Double high tower my power grants me the chicks |
| The blows the cars and enemies that wanna spar |
| You wanna see it no matter who you are |
| Yeah I’m bound to ground you like that |
| Put they ass on a mound and duce em' to a baseball |
| Face tall, brag about it like teenage sex |
| Text book characters gettin' etched out to rough draft |
| Rush Limbaugh autograph her left titty |
| New Yor, New York yeah we bigger than the buildings |
| Do it for the love of the art and the childrens |
| And throw paper machet inside of ya models |
| See we all throttles, we zip by in this drive |
| Allergic to ya sperm broke hives |
| Concerned about ya; ife when ya down eight lives |
| Top of the night I’m up in queens like ah yeah |
| ducin' ducin' to you Dave |
| Batter on deck, carded every time I set foot in the joint |
| Cabaret artist I’ll two piece ya tray |
| If she wanna get vamped, bring her to the tent |
| Touch her till her back indents |
| Wrap it extra strength |
| Run a lap on her calculatin' the length |
| Holdin' mics tighter than hymens |
| Old school it like Holly-Hobby, Head-to-Head, Easy Bake Oven |
| Strong Jerome lovin' man I hit the pack |
| Pa |