[Intro: Shyheim]

Lil' Jon, take back your cup, son

I'mma smack fire outta one of these niggaz

Runnin' around with cups and shit, with they names on it

...got fuckin' strips... man, listen

It's the kid, nigga, Shyheim, nigga, what?

Uh-huh, they fucked up and let me out

This Bottom Up, Brock Bros., King Just, Shaolin



[Shyheim]

You don't get a cup for that sucker shit you doing

I can tell you never had real drama from the way you moving

You easy access, dress up like I work for FedEx

Deliver a bomb in a box to your address

Now you know you ain't ordered shit, you still gonna open it

Always lookin' for the come up, see, what ya greedy ass hit?

Pine casket and some flowers, and your bitch will be fuckin'

One of my Bottom Up niggaz, give and take a couple hours

June Lov', with this criminal mentality of ours

To eat, shit, shave, and shower with the culture power

You don't get a cup, cuz I said you don't get a cup

You not a gang banger, throwin' your record company sign up

How come nobody on your team, had a gun, when ya man got bodied

Y'all just standin' there, feelin' stupid, lookin' down at his body

And if dead niggaz could talk, I bet he said, y'all pussy, probably



[Chorus: Shyheim]

You don't get a cup, for them hub cap spinners

You don't get a cup, cuz you don't fuck with the winners

You don't get a cup, cuz you ain't down with Shaolin

You don't get a cup, cuz y'all niggaz don't be wildin'

You don't get a cup, cuz you ain't from the grain

And you don't get a cup, cuz niggaz snatched your chain

You don't get a cup, cuz you runnin' from me

And you don't get a cup, cuz I'm the hottest in the street



[Shyheim]

How the fuck Nick Cannon get a cup?

When Nickelodeon kids, don't even get drink

Your names written in rhinestone, not diamonds

This is for my comrades, with their green cups

Starin' mud up on the Island, gettin' counted

Dogs in the pound, growlin', hear the moans of the forgotten

Mouth all dry, like we suckin' on cotton

We thristy, so y'all better pray for mercy

The state of mind, hip hop's in right now, hurts me

Disgust me, everybody's thugs, gangstas, and p-i-m-ps

We all irregular people, peace



[Chorus]



[Shyheim]

2000 box, New York 'ocks, a box of tops

Be in S.A.Q. so long, they call me sock

Who got the drop homey? I got the drop

Runnin' up in the spot, with my 40 cal' glock

The money, jewels and your cup is what I came for

Then I'm lookin' at the front door, like Main Source

Slidin' off in the 0-4, gray porsche

I crucified the game, put the scale on the porch

In memory of my mans, that died for grams

Catch shots, dusted out, with the Wally Champs

Screamin' 'fuck everybody', lickin' shots like stance



[Chorus]



[Outro: Shyheim]

Listen, man, there's 2 type of people, man

Trend setters and those who follow trends

Man, life is not a gimmick, man

Life is a privalege, see y'all runnin' around here, frontin' man

Like we won't take your life, B

I'm serious, man, and go sit up in a box

With some child shit, and blow some holes and do pushups, nigga

Make ya chest big, nigga, beat our dick offa something

The black tails, or the butt-mans or something

Keepin' it gangsta man, Bottom Up, Brock Bros

2-0-0-4, to infinity, nigga, remember that

It's the God, you know?