Verse One: E 40
 I'm really not all that sure
 bout when things is finna mature
 So let me find me a nigga with a grip
 and hit his ass quick with one of them whoops
 (What's the definition of a lick?)
 Taking a niggaz shit
 (Hey put that on sumthin)
 I put that on The Click  The Click
 Back to fuckin work one of the homies jus got dusted
 Time to do some dirt  uhh  I never trusted
 them bustas shot him in the shirt, dead on arrival
 Now the town is funky, it's called survival
 What y'all wanna do? They got us scuffled
 (bullet high, get in your eye) if this was a fifth well I be drunk
 I'm heated, them niggaz cheated, played me false
 We had em eatin, shit 'posed to been squashed
 I noticed one killa on the double dribble and set him up y'all
 She likes the Monie in the Middle, play tetherball
 Thick ass bitch, high yellow city-slicker
 Scarecrow creepin Southern bitches, aka Posie Pussyfictious
 Verse Two: Spice-1
 Nigga been holdin guts, but shit on hisself and a funky bill
 Pullin out bills, frontin on material shit
 that's when I get to killin shit (killin shit)
 And settin 'im up and havin 'im catchin a couple of slugs
 Sl-uh sl-uh slugs, trynta fuck with savage thug
 Pistol pop in they ass, see niggaz be gettin this twisted
 It's that bitch that killed ya
 Took all your money peeled ya
 Seven niggaz bust in the room with AK's
 while a nigga be puttin on his jimmy
 All of a sudden they shoot up your Vuitton
 before you can hit the broccoli
 See money-a-made that nigga, that nigga didn't make that money
 Left them niggaz jacked up, and the bitch she macked him
 He's a busta, punk ass nigga, y'all know the streets
 That's why that nigga naked layin dead in between some bloody sheets
 It's just a part of the game he didn't feel
 Bitches will kill, fuck a nigga, out his last d-uh dollar bill
 You don't know that hoe main that bitch can't be trusted
 Dusted and di-motherfuckin-sgusted
 Chorus: E-40
 Some cold hearted shit
 Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
 Whacha'll wanna do, whacha'll wanna do
 Cold hearted bitches
 Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
 Whacha'll wanna do, I never trusted them bustas
 Some cold hearted shit
 Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
 I never trusted them bustas
 And it's them cold hearted bitched
 Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
 Dusted and disgusted
 Verse Three: E-40, 2Pac
 Let's let of some two or threes on the other side of t-uh-town
 Draw the attention on the other s-uh-side of town (other side of town)
 And wait for the po-po shift to change, ghetto shootin range
 Revenge on the r-uh-rebound, war games
 Droughts, out, shhh lost clientele but I will prevail
 by sellin the broccoli dank instead of the crack cocaine
 try not to steal narcotics
 When these punk MC's and bitches be the reason why
 the smoke be comin up out the chow, with my nigga Pac
 Dear God, can you forgive me? My future's lookin sick
 I'm in my rag hittin switches I'm suspicious of these bitches
 I keep on, calllin, but ain't nobody pickin up
 I think she's stallin, this evil bitch is tryin ta set me up
 Came all alone if it's on then it's on
 Where's my motherfuckin chrome, only jealous niggaz roam
 It's a war zone (war zone) but I'm a man so with gun in hand
 I'm on my way to see this hoe you know the fuckin plan
 Can't understand, but the things ain't the same
 You could die over these bitches if you slippin in the game
 Niggaz gang bang, but bitches gang bang too
 Give up that good thang, and put that pistol to your brain
 If you was smart figure, don't have no love in your heart nigga
 Any complications pull the trigger, dusted and disgusted
 Bitches can't be trusted, you know the rules
 They underhanded, she planned it, you fuckin fool
 (These hoes out here tryin to hold a nigga's heart
 So a nigga get his money fucked with
 Almost in-laws)
 Hey be proud of it when you turn these bitches upside down
 What's gonna happen
 (Uhh, three and a half dollars or probably fo' if
 a bitch ridin)
 (Yeah main, them hoes talented
 They be fuckin with mo' MC's at Jack the Rapper)
 (Aight fuck it, what you say Mall?
 Ay, fuck them sheisty ass bootches, nigga)
 Verse Four: Mac Mall, Spice-1, E-40
 The California lifestyle that I live
 Where the bitches is crooked and niggaz jus don't give
 A flyin fuck, so I stay stuck, smokin on the tay-low
 Bay Area playa, tryin ta have shit major
 And a bitch won't save ya
 so I ain't playin Captain Save a Hoe
 I mob up in ya like a pro and then I'm gone
 I'm like Sylvester Stallone, everyday is like a Cliffhanger
 Action packed, I let the mini-mac smack that ass
 Them hoes jacked that ass
 Nigga woulda got smokin on that hash
 Can't have my cash, better go and take your nigga stash
 Cuz he's a busta, niggaz with clusters
 Slippin in shit, betta jack that nigga 'fore I jack his ass bitch
 Never was no love for the mark-ass, the lo pink (the lo pink)
 You love them Bootsy bitches, can't let them pussy bitches
 gank that ass, betta hide your cash and check her fast
 Pump your brakes nigga, slow your roll don't go too fast
 Cause bulletproof ain't doin no good no mo' no mo' no mo' no mo'
 now, niggaz comin up dead with they brains blew out on the fuckin
 floor
 damn, hollow points to flesh tears through the teflon vest
 Now r-uh-rest
 Pull a plug on a flatline over those, one nigga less
 One nigga less, from coast to coast, to the East to the West
 Crushin the flesh, dem bitches played a game of death
 Look over your shoulder watch your back don't even trust it
 I'm tryin to told ya end up dusted
 Chorus