Yo, look in my eyes. You can see death comin' quick.
Look in my palms, you can see what I'm gunnin' with.
I play no games when it comes to this war shit.
If death was a jacket, you would see how the floor fits.
Crackin' your chest when I show you how the force spits,
Makin' your mother wish she would have had an abortion. But these [people] keep testin' my weapons.
I hold my head just to keep from stressin';
Got Beef, I can spit from a distance for instance;
A [person] wouldn't listen so I hit him with the Smithen;
Hauled off 15 rounds, seven missed him;
Two to the mask and six to the ribs, lifted and flipped him.
The safe street squad found him, half his shell missin.
I play my position, fall back and watch [people] keep my enemies real.
Close to my twin bitches, hollow heads in the back of they throats mercury drippin'.
They spit sickness, poison a [person] right when they clip him.
They don't call me Threat for nothin', so pay attention.