This goes out to you
 This goes out to you  and you  and you  and you
 Verse One:
 Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
 As I crush so called willies  thugs  and rapper dons
 Get in that ass  quick fast  like Romma Don
 Its that rap phenomenon
 Don Dadda  fuck Poppa
 You got ta  call me  Francis M.H. White
 In tank light totes  tote eyein
 Was told in shootout
 Stay low, and keep firin
 Keep extra clips for extra shit
 Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rack
 The mo shady, cranky baby
 Ain't no tellin where I may be
 May see me in DC at Howard Homes
 Comin, with my man Capone, Dummin, fuckin somethin
 You should know my stilo
 Went from 10 G's for blow to 30 Gs a show
 To orgies with hoes I never seen before
 So, Jesus, get off the Notorious penis
 before I squeeze and bust
 If theres beef between us
 We can settle it
 With that chrome-metal shit
 I make it hot, like a kettle get
 You're delicate, you better get
 Who sent ya?
 You're still peddle shit
 I got more rides than Great Adventure
 Biggie
 Chorus: repeat 4X
 Kick in the door wavin the four-four
 All you heard was poppa don't hit no more
 Verse Two:
 On ya mark, get set
 when I spark, ya wet
 Look how dark it get
 When ya marked with death
 Should I start ya breath
 Or should I let you die
 In fear you start to cry, ask why
 Lyrically, I'm worser
 Don't front the word sick
 You cursed it, but rehearsed it
 I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
 You perps get, stuck quickly for raw tease and show money
 Don't forget the publishin
 I punish em
 I'm done with them
 Son, I'm surprised you run with them
 I think they got cum in them
 Cuz they, nothin but dicks
 Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
 Man I smoke hydro rock diamonds, thats sick
 Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
 Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitch
 I know you prayin you was rich
 Fuckin prick
 When I see ya I'ma
 Chorus
 Verse Three:
 This goes out to those that choose to use
 Disrespectful view on the King of NY
 Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in ya eye
 Now ya Braille'in it, stash that light shit
 Or scalin it
 Conscience of ya nonsense in 88,
 Sold more powder than Johnson and Johnson
 Tote steel like Bronson
 Vigilante
 You wanna get on son, you need to ask me
 Ain't no other king in this rap thing
 They siblings
 Nothing but maturin, one shot, they disappearin
 Its ill when, MC's used to be on crazy shit
 Took home, Ready To Die, listen, study shit
 Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
 They light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
 Make the white shake, thats why my money never funny
 And you still recoupin, stupid