(feat. Promatic)



[DJ Butter scratches a sample]

"BIATCH"



[Proof talking]

This is what they need to know

They need to know this is some sick note shit

They need to know that shit, this is also some Promatic shit ya hear me

Dogmatic and Proof ya hear me, on top of that it's some Detroit shit

And some DJ Butter shit, we don't like you, shit happens

Esham we don't like you

ICP we don't like ya'll



[Proof]

Lets go back before rapping, mixing, toasting, and dubbing

When I was making bread without a loaf in the oven

I'll snipe at the closest of your cousins

Bitch you're gonna post up for fucking

See that, I don't do that

Blew back your wig, that's how new Jacks get did

That's how the few tracks is, kickin new raps for ears

Ya'll ready to die like Big recorded

When your flow is shit regular, when rig is morted father

Kids deported, I rig the borders

I swallowed the weed and jumped the bridge's shoulders

Playas that run the D don't use words 

Like "Shhhhhh" ya heard

Proof is now on its own, for now known

I'm a grounded mole, while I plow your home

Spit flames now nigga your brows are gone

You ain't shit; I'm a thousand miles from wrong

I'll eradicate your molecules and even if your mamma swallowed you

Or your pops pulled down on you, I don't like you

Overnight hypes with mics that have pity little trife fights with dykes 

Have mountain climbers try swap the pipes

Bloaw then it's the worst night of your life

Over my first, niggas are high from this shit

You don't even hear the boom cause you die from the clip



[Chorus:  (Proof) and Dogmatic]

(Cause you bitches) don't like you

Matic don't like you, we don't like you

"BIATCH"

Proof don't like you, Matic don't like you

We don't like you

"BIATCH"



[Dogmatic]

Yo, live from Detroit it's Saturday Night

As I bite down on theses shrooms, I'm bound to fight

Snatching ice on sight (Bitch it's Devil's Night)

Give me fifty cent worth of gas and a rag to light

(We blowin up your house) you think we playin

(WE BLOWIN UP YOUR HOUSE) you know what I'm sayin

You're an accident waiting to happen

And just as soon I'm finish rappin, my 380 is about to start clappin 

You better hope that I'm high when I see you

And if I'm high I'll still gonna walk by and see you

And if I'm sober it's all fuckin over

You better hope you don't see the Matic no more

You get your little ligaments tore have your jaw sore

Attack your whack ass like a fucking wild bore 

Punk the hardest nigga treat him like a whore

My face in the dictionary under hardcore

Kick in the door waving the four-four 

All you heard was Matic don't hit me no more

Punch him in the nose and shoot him in the shin

Let him know me and those hoe niggas ain't friends



"You little Bitch"



[DJ Butter scratches a sample]

"BIATCH