(feat. Jaysaun, Krumb Snatcha)



[DJ Supreme One cuts up]

[L.L. Cool J] (Rock the Beat)



[VERSE 1: Krumb Snatcha]

Your ghostwriter can't write, read from material

Black King Lear, Shakespeare, skill imperial

Lose when I spread throughout crews, venereal

V.D. leakin out your CD and stereo

Cell block rap, chew out your backpacks

Nickel to the dime, host a battle, bring it online

Cockin on a nine and blow out your whole mind

Be the same effect you get when you step to Snatcha rhymes

Every verse a scripture, spirits'll hit ya

Start shakin like I'm earthquakin on the Richter

Plus-sized beats completes the whole mixture

Imagine that like a Kodak, the perfect picture

Tourin nights, floorin mics, reachin for a satellite

Vigils and candle lights, in the words of Frank White

I'm fightin you and your bitin crew to pen your dopest rhymes

We get up in that ass everytime



[Krumb Snatcha]

This is raw gangsta

It's that hip-hop shit thugs can bang ta

In the streets where heat is no stranger

And my peeps behind, they might shank ya

No piece of mind when cops chase us

Livin life stressed in cell spaces (say what)

It's the nine or the shotie that makes a new patient

Riders, gangbangers, OG's and chain-takers



[VERSE 3: Jaysaun]

You loud-mouth niggas lock your traps

We'll cock these raps and put some AC units in your stocking caps

We understand you're mad cause you're stuck in your place

You out of shape and overweight, nigga, suck in your waist

Without Snoop Dogg 'murder's the case'

We carryin a portable volcano, soon erupt in your face

Jaysaun, Edo.G and Krumb Snatcha at it

As you french-kiss a full-metal jacket, faggot

This is East Coast gangsta music, somethin to kill to

Pop pills to, the purple haze fills you

Creators appear courtesy of Hennessy and me

OG's before BET's Marie was Free

So when you see us three on 2-3's

In a '04 M3, in the back playin PS3

'Wear your glasses' like DMC

Before your brain matter scattered on your GMC



[Jaysaun]

This is extra gangsta

It's that gun-bust shit filled with anger

Startin beef in streets, we not strangers

If you don't close your mouth we might blaze ya

It's a five to nine that I'm facin

Livin life with mad aggravation (say what)

It's mind tellin body about to lose patience

And leave you brainless courtesy of the stainless



[VERSE 3: Edo.G]

Yo, stop talkin bullshit like pastors in religion

No vision, I live and die by my decision

Confess to killin MC's by my own admission

Ghetto niggas pay a high price for a low cost of livin

Thug rappers been to jail, ain't never been to prison

If it's money or gettin bloody, then my hand and my trigger finger itchin

I'ma spit to this shit

You can't improvise with actin hard, stick to the script

Edo.G bang with the best, even corny-ass crews

With the same chain and piece that hang from they chest

I know most niggas on a first name basis

A tropical oasis, runnin from old cases

Y'all can't put all the names with the faces

Depends on the game if the king's higher than the aces

Takin shots, no chasers

You're past your prime, bow out gracious

Before you have to face it



[Edo.G]

This is far from gangsta

It's that hip-hop shit filled with anger

It's the streets, to beef it's no stranger

It's these beats and rhymes that might change ya

It's the peace of mind that I'm chasin

Livin life with less aggravation

It's mind tellin body about to lose patience

Writers, DJ's, MC's, and breakers



(Rock the Beat)