Hey yo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to Tupac

Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on newlots

I was too young, couldnt get up in clubs back in the old days

We used rob and terrorize kids in front of homebase

If Funkmaster Flex was inside, rockin the whole place

We was outside, smacking kids and snatchin gold chains

Baggin mad pigeons, catchin mad digits, bad bitches

And when they husbands came around we had to blast bisquits

A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols

Broken dreams and broken homes, we always had issues

And mad problems worshippin gangstas and bankrobbers

Watchin star fade startin fights and rap conscience (?)

Until we realized how to get the real money

Steal money, kidnap money, kill money

Its funny how the money make the whole world love you

Jealous cats hate you, dime pigeons

Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna touch you

Got the IRS lookin at you, wanna fuck you

Sniffin so much blow, you dont know if you can trust you

Ecstasy react to what the cocaine and the dust do

Go against the Ill Bill, and Non Phixion will crush you, bust you

Leave you with a tube and ya throat to suck through (?)

We truck jewels, we dust brothers fuck mothers

You thugs love us, ? the gunslingers and drughustlers

Where my gangstas at?



[Cuts]

"Is you a gangsta?"

"With gangsta rap"