[Young Prod]

Yeah

Puttin it down like this, bitch

S.C.C. back at yo ass, nigga

Fuck everybody

That's real



[VERSE 1: Young Prod]

Rides, from my six-fo' to my Lex-o

Bumpin, what would you do if you knew, loc

How to put a lick down? Busta, you'se a amateur

You get scared when I glare, imagine if if I stare at ya

Then you would have to test yo Pro-Keds

Cause I done drew down and bust a cap at your forehead

So go 'head and jet, but let your big homie know

If he got static the automatics is ready-go

And what I bang I claim real to the gee

The Cartel's cavi, so can we calculate the C

As we be dumpin, locin as we slide on the d's

And we slip the clips to the B.G.

Young P puts it down and ain't nothing changin

I'm aimin heat at your dome cause it's gangsta

Bustas better raise up off the blocks when we ride

Cause glocks leave niggas shell-shocked and they die



[CHORUS]

O.G.'s get smoked

B.B.'s get loced

with straps

so perhaps

niggas get dealt with

If caps get peeled and niggas get served

with straps

so perhaps

niggas get dealt with



[VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son]

I'm up early in the mornin, creasin my Karl Kani's, I'm saggin

I reach for my heat, yeah, that .44 magnum

It's time to regulate your block, you get twisted

I'm easin through your ass like a dick, now it's on, bitch

Welcome to the ill shit where niggas collapse in anger

Provokes the Rhime Son to release one out of the chamber

Crossin out our shit in the studio, foolio, you panic

And get your ass sunk like the Titanic

[?] up the cavi, proceedin to cause the ruckus

Meditate with the evil and the devil couldn't touch us

It's Prode'je and Rhime Son, Rhime Son and Prode'je

Extendin like a clip, hittin dips, no sense in tryin me

Ain't no love, focus on the realest

No future in your frontin cause you muthafuckas feel this

It's S.C.C. and Mouthpiece, so behold another coma

I'm in your fuckin lung like pneumonia



[CHORUS]



[VERSE 3: Prode'je]

Fuckin with the realer body-bag-filler-type of niggas

Killers that have you niggas chockin on your livers

S.C. could never play the back so the wack I confronted

Cocked the 12-guage and head-hunted

Had to be a flea cause you fuckin with that gee

Hav's got the S, Prod's got the C.C.

Gettin wreck, fools, you get dealth with

Like them niggas Mobb Deep said: you be 'shook' like a earthquake

Studio gees I refuse to see

When 87 times niggas was accused to g

Of bein foulish, but I'ma leave you swoll' like a callous

Cancelled like Dallas, knock yo ass off balance

I put my foot up in that ass, bro, you didn't know

That I can bust your shit like a pimple

And when it's over you be dead, gee

I got your number

And sucker-ass niggas goin under



[CHORUS]



[Prode'je]

That's right, muthafucka

Nineteen-muthafuckin-ninety-six

That S with them 2 C's is gettin wreck on that ass

Finna dig a foot off in yo muthafuckin ass, nigga

Punk muthafuckas thought we couldn't come back with that real shit

with that shoot-to-kill shit

Havikk the muthafuckin Rhime Son, Mouthpiece and Prode'je

finna break all you muthafuckas down

That's right

Finna break all you muthafuckas down

Cause you punk-ass niggas get dealt with