My bars be hot in, number 1 spot n I'm hardly stoppin...
You too late like puttin Slim Fast in Chris Farley's coffin...
I spit hot sick flows, let alone my fuckin glock rips foes...
Killin off every one of your dogs, I'll even pop Wishbone...
My fried mind's intact, but I still do drive-bys wit gats...
And I'ma keep on droppin Heat like a skydiving Shack...
I erase great thugs, so try stoppin this freight train son...
End up royaly fucked like the Queen on date rape drugs...
Step up n try your luck, I'ma keep gettin high as fuck...
Ridin wit da boys in red, and they don't drive fire trucks...
So bitch pick ya weapon, I choose my smith n wesson...
And I ain't cuttin ya food, but I'll have ya ribs in sections...
Puttin bodies in gutters, ya'll keep robbing eachother...
I tend to be impacting boards, n I'm no karate instructor...
Ya'll play the game n fail, some place my name in brail...
These the type of bars that keep Saddam Hussein in jail...