[Royce Da 5'9"]

Stretch Stretch.. (Whassup sup?)

I'm tryin to figure out a way to start this rhyme off (Mmm)

You ain't got no ideas? (Nah)

Aight, I'll start it like this (Aight)

Check it, yo



[P. Diddy's "Bad Boy for Life" beat plays]



FUCK, you! (haha) I'm all nuts, no glory

You're walkin now but nigga what's the story?

You better, duck when I go BOOM, cause suckers bore me

and yeah, I probably hate Tommy Boy as much as Nore do

Who the best?  Eminem, Jigga or Nas?

Cause when it comes lottery time, that spot'll be mines

You takin the throne is under the bridge

And yeah, you might be +Ready to Die+ but none of you +Big+

So, you've been dared to listen

'til the fiercest rhythm'll spit air condition glitter and wrist cool

FUCK doom, I don't age

Cut "Boom" up loud and see a mushroom cloud on stage [explosion]

Do the math, four knuckles'll give you six months

and, you niggaz is so pussy you make my dick jump (haha)

I don't wish to be king, I'll pass the throne

Whatever shines too bright shines half as long

I don't kiss hoes, I only put my lips on a cup

Pee-wee niggaz, go somewhere and piss on your nuts (haha)

God gave me this life, and if he decides to envy and give me

I'm takin the flow of the century with me

Oh, so if you feel insane, and want a war

Reality check, you not ready, your soldiers is still in trainin

A bunch of hundreds that'll read the menu

We run tabs with receipts sayin "To be continued.."

And – bully niggaz this is your day

Meet me at the flagpole so you can hit me in my fists with your face

And snitch niggaz is common as E-Bay wear

Uhh, give the cops more +Alerts+ than DJ Red

I got the blood of a dead soldier, on my palms

and the scent of yo' bitch lingerin on my fingertips

And you niggaz is deep, I got a deep barrel that'll blaze

So FUCK deep, the deep shall lay in a shallow grave

For you deep niggaz.



[beat switches to Lord Tariq & Peter Gunz' "What's That Sound?"]



Uhh.. (Stretch Armstrong is now in your world..)



Yo, I determine what time it's on, I call my nigga Proof

Hand him a pint of Limon and turn him loose!

I'm tired of you new jacks

I'm tired of niggaz sayin they bout to blow

'Less you a bitch, I don't care if you bout do that

Move back, youngster, the glock gon' speak

Chew up your vest and turn your chest hair to taco meat!

The street, continuous to pit, too quick to smash ya

or flash the clip, or give you the picture develop

The click clock, six shots blows through another door

And it gets hot, this Hip-Hop Quotable tug of war

Who did ya niggaz beats you bitches, who made it work?

That shit was [phwrt!], I got harder 2-Way alerts

You get toe-up and re-torn; by the walkin bomb

that I blow up and re-form, grow up then re-born

Told you I'm a star that's gon' live forever

Servin life sentence and get out and go to the bar

So nigga take BLLAT!  I gotta go to the car

BLLAT, oh BLLAT!  I gotta throw it in 'park'

The iron'll wet ya - the Mausberg pump

with the buckshots shells'll turn a nigga into Chinese Checkers

I don't even start writin 'til I'm on my third 5th

That's what you get, when Beatminers meet the Wordsmiths

Uhh, every time I go out, I cop somethin new

Every time I throw this right hand I knock somethin loose

Who the fuck think they can see me?  Might as well

call the wife and tell her you're not comin home and to take it easy

My guns don't shoot, they WOOF!

At them sissy-ass niggaz type to accidentally shoot they foot

Desert Eagle too big for you bitch-ass niggaz

Soft-ass palms, can't take the kickback niggaz

And you wonder why they suckin my dick

Or why I keep a suitcase with a hundred grand handcuffed to my wrist

Or why the watch could possibly make you lose your sight blinkin

on the wrist, lookin like halogen hazard lights blinkin

Royce 5-9 in this bitch

About to sprinkle gunfire on any snitch

Now who the fuck want it, bitches?



Yeah, uhh, uhh