| Ether Boy, Def Jam, Ghostface, Ron Browz | 
| Oh, oh, oh | 
| It’s no special when them shots go down | 
| You can catch one in the gut, and go down | 
| The silencers work to muffle that sound | 
| Snuck through tools and on the low down | 
| Gangstas give it up, what | 
| Big cups of Goose stay filled-it up, we stay four wheeled-it up | 
| I would talk to shorty but her ass ain’t big enough | 
| Her friends look like the type that’ll just give it up | 
| From abyss to gecko, stay bumrushing them hoes like Joe Klecko | 
| It’s hard to get a ticket like the Funkmaster Flex show | 
| Even fat girls get twist into pretzels, Toney Starks special | 
| She’s a killer (oh) she’s a killer (oh) | 
| She’s a killer, mami, you’se a killer | 
| She’s a killer (oh) she’s a killer (oh) | 
| She’s a killer, shorty, you’se a killer | 
| Oh, hop in my four wheeler, oh, ain’t nobody realer | 
| Oh, you got a man, I’mma steal ya, oh, my ice is iller | 
| Yeah, we drinking Patron and, put your number in my phone and | 
| Ain’t trying to take you home and, we partying to the morning | 
| Oh, to the morning, oh, to the morning | 
| Oh, to the morning, to, to the morning | 
| Oh, to the morning, oh, to the morning | 
| Oh, oh, we partying to the morning | 
| My co-defendant, her name’s Alexis | 
| Niggas get caught up by the side of her breastses | 
| She’ll murder you while eating your breakfast | 
| You’ll die wanting to try how good her sex is | 
| Baby’s shit wiggle like J-Lo, her thing so good | 
| Before you hit it, you be having to pray, yo | 
| Don’t wanna bust fast, best be on your J-O | 
| She strictly dickly, don’t go both ways, yo | 
| She independant and she fly | 
| Bout 5'5, 5'6, bout yay high | 
| Button-up pink boss shirt, blue necktie | 
| Every nigga in the club wanna eat that thigh | 
| Surprise she stay on her toes like a prized ballerina | 
| She tight, her stomping grounds is out in Medina | 
| This pretty thing handle her biz, she carry those things | 
| Ready to die like she related to B.I.G. | 
| Everybody’s acting like they killing the town | 
| (Pardon me lord, I was sipping that brown) | 
| This goes for the rappers, non-gun clappers | 
| Yo, Wigs, get the cameras these is a bunch of actors (action) | 
| Yet, my heat sing like Shirley Caesar | 
| You can come test me at, your own leisure | 
| I’m ballin', gettin' Arab money and I pop champagne | 
| And go hit shorty, shaking that thang, cuz |