[talking:] 

All good things must come to a end, you know what I'm saying 

That's the word from the lil' bird I heard, ha 

Killa Gorilla nigga DJ Storm, Purple Punch the mixtape nigga 

It's a wrap thank ya, thank ya Superman has just left the building 

Here a lil' treat, for you motherfuckers that's still listening 

If your ears open, run it Storm 

(ladies and gentlemen, you already know what it is man 

It's your kid Yung Chill, a Lunie-Tunez production oh boy 

Ha, make bidness) they know who it is run it 



[scratching] 



[Kyleon:] 

It's lunch time, better yet it's crunch time 

Pick up the blow put up your flow, and all your punch lines 

Grab a square, break up the brick quick as a crane 

Place the powder in the packs, so you can do your thang 

Get your scale pyrex, and you park em 

In the kitchen cooking cookies, this is culinary art 

Working for 28 straight, no less than 26 

Anything less than that, then you won't hit the lick 

Put it in the microwave, now heat it up 

Pull it out add the cold water, now beat it up 

Hand me 4-7-5, and you can get your issue 

I got that hard straight butter, my shit thick as grissel 

I hear the fiends whistle, and niggaz need work 

Call me on the burner, don't hit me on the chirp 

I'm not a terrorist, but FED's on hot alert 

Itching just to catch a nigga slipping, out here doing dirt 



[scratching]