while i stand on ya block, wit hands on my glock to dismantle ya knot/
the only way you hittin the big time is boxin with grandfather clocks/
Hobo, your poor Ass cant afford to be in a fight wit me/
This Young Buck aint seein Banks, like some sorta g-unit rivalry/
Feel free to plummet whenever, cause I just stomached ya letters/
I put shoes on my bullets, so when I pull it, they can run in ya sweater/
You're wack blah blah blah, something something you suck/
Why finish him with a closer...his career's "finished" enough/