Fresh off the jet to the block, burnin’ rubber with the top popped
My partner busting shots; I tell him stop, it make the block hot
Your label got got ’cause you are not hot
I got the top spot and it will not stop
Hey, video or not, dog, we bust it till the glock stop
Drag ya out that Bentley coupe and take it to the chop shop
Recently disembarked from the airplane and onward to the inner city,
I’m driving in excess of the speed limit with my convertible roof down.
My associates are discharging their firearms;
I appeal them to cease so as not to be brought under scrutiny for our illegal actions.
Your record label was defrauded because you are an unskilled emcee
While I am acclaimed as greatest among emcees—and that shan’t change!
Whether we’re being video-recorded or not, cur,
We will fire upon you until our striker-fired polymer-framed Austrian pistols are spent!
I will physically remove you from your Bentley-brand coupé
And then take it to the illegal car-disassembling facility
Partner, we not y’all, if it may pop off
I'll answer the question “Will I get ya block knocked off?” (Yeah)
This what it is, bro: look, I will kill bro
I’m in your hood; if you a gangsta, what you hid for?
Somebody better get bro ’fore he get sent for
You say you wanna squash it—what you still talkin’ shit for?
Friend, I shan’t be on your side if conflict arises.
Allow me to answer my own question: “Shall I decapitate you?” (Yes)
Here is the situation at hand, brother: I shall murder a brother, i.e. you
I am in your neighborhood; if you are truly a ruffian, why have you hidden yourself?
It’d be wise for someone to find Brother before I request his presence
You claimed to want to resolve our rivalry—
Why, then, do you continue to speak ill of me?