Kingpin hiring a hitman to murder
 A federal prosecuting drug-dealing witness
 But that's how it is in the business
 And I'm in it, physically gaining power
 Constantly counting up cash by the hour
 And it feels good to be paid
 Regardless of how many victims get slayed
 Accomplices of mine drop like flies
 But in this everyday a homeboy dies
 Whether shot in the body or cyanide in ya Bacardi
 'Cause it's a cutthroat party
 Now it's up to me to retaliate
 And if I score, I'll increase the murder rate
 I move on ones who double-cross
 Set them up, now they suffer the loss
 Of he or she who's ever on the agenda
 Most likely a family member
 Informants, rattle-tattle-telling snakes
 Get shot up, brutalized and thrown in lakes
 The parts of a body is found days later
 The other half was done by an amputator
 I'm undefeated in plenty fights
 My enemies are beaten with many stripes
 I'll shoot up funerals, firebomb wakes
 Vehicular homicides, whatever it takes
 Just to keep control of my empire
 I'll set ya own mother on fire
 'Cause when it comes down just to me and my money
 Ain't a fucking thing funny
 All those who pose a threat I'll stick them
 Ya friends, ya family and innocent victims
 Get caught in the midst when I'm busting of nines
 But they was in the wrong place, the wrong time
 Decapitated bodies found in lots
 While I'm still cooking up kilos in pots
 The kilos becomes bricks and the bricks becomes rocks
 Then retailed on the blocks
 I drive around in expensive cars
 And get women who fuck like porno stars
 I get them high, you know, like powder they nose
 Then put 'em in the streets as my high-class hoes
 I'm wild, living foul and I'm ruthless
 I leave muthafuckers toothless
 I had a worker who stepped on the scene lively
 Then started selling my customers Ivory
 Soap, counterfeit vials of cracks
 I stuck 'em to death with a thousand thumbtacks
 You've seen my resume, that's just the half
 I'm a bad muthafucker, just like Shaft
 A character played by who? Richard Roundtree
 The only difference, my guns are sound-free
 Silencers ring off then wisp by
 Then all you hear is a last minute cry
 Of those who triedto control my territory
 Not the West Side but the Bed-Stuy story
 Police be giving me eye-to-eye contact
 But I smile 'cause I'm putting out contracts
 Now a G-note is placed upon ya head
 You say picture that alright, bang ya dead

 This is the life of a drug dealer