[Intro: Master P & (Cam'ron)]
Yo, Cam, let's flip this thing on these n***as
Ya'heard me?
(Let's do it, my n***a) Well, do your dizzang
(There's nothing, man) (Up top, down south, right)
Oh yeah, oh yeah (We bout it)
Aiight, whodi (Yeah)
Yo, this one here goes out to them boys
That's 'bout it 'bout it, Master P, Cam'ron
We taking this from the South to the East, uhhhhh

[Verse 1: Cam'ron]
I represent, where them killers at?
145th and Broadway, you get your head cracked
Get your legs snapped, arm-twist, ribs cracked
Wig tapped, "play fair!", day care, kids napped
You think you real? Well, my posse is crazier
Your moms? Mobbing and raping her, Saudi Arabia
I'm '89 tho', Audi and Avias
Beef in N.O., I had to call No Limit up
Baby MAC, baby gat, shit to wake the baby up
My baby boo, cop the X5 – that's a baby truck
Santana rolling big, Jimmy in the Caddy
Dayton, Youngstown, Cleveland, Cincinnati
In the double-O, I represent the C-O
Please, hoe, Harlem World, 40th – that's me, yo
Clips, 11 off; bricks, get 7 off
Snow so white, only thing missin' is seven dwarfs
[Chorus: Master P]
Killa Cam, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Jim Jones, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Freekey Zeke, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Santana, that boy he 'bout it, 'bout it
Harlem World, you know they 'bout it, 'bout it
Diplomats, you know they rowdy, rowdy
145th and Broadway, them boys real
You know them boys, they don't play

[Verse 2: Cam'ron]
Killa... aiyyo, I'm bouncing through an ounce or two
My crib look like the Fontainebleau
A fountain too – no water, only pumping Mountain Dew
Front on y'all little cats, I was bound to do
I made it where chickenheads can't pronounce my shoes
I got head, but need more mouth
119th to the whorehouse, soon as the tour's out (What's good?)
Papi's rotten, my block top and spot be popping
I pop ahk over some Oxycontin
Cotton Club and Roxy Robins'
Rubies and rocks, we popping
Booties, Uzis and Glocks'll stop 'em (Stop 'em)
Battery on his head: copper-top him
When I'm in the building, dog, you've got to watch him (There they go right there)
Got to spot him, Tre-8, a floor, revolve him
The D.A., sergeant and coroner's problem, now
Highs get 8 done, Dipset don't play none
Jim Jones, Freekey, Killa and the Great One (Santana)
[Chorus: Master P]
Killa Cam, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Jim Jones, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Freekey Zeke, you know he 'bout it, 'bout it
Santana, that boy he 'bout it, 'bout it
Harlem World, you know they 'bout it, 'bout it
Diplomats, you know they rowdy, rowdy
145th and Broadway, them boys real
You know them boys, they don't play

[Verse 3: Jim Jones]
You know I claim (What you claim?) where them gangstas bang
15th and Lenox, 9-tre, they do they own thing
In Uptown, up on 40, a phat Sean hit the block
Dog, he move that water shit
He like the network over wet work
You come up short on that paper, get a wet shirt
Then if you walking through Foster and Taft
Flossing that cash, them gangstas'll put the torch to your ass
And I can't forget AK and Wagner
My dogs straight crazy, 'cause the AK'll blast ya
One call to daddy, Sheik and Q
LB's will sadly beat your crew, now come on, shit
And dope stacks, right in front the liquor store
Hennessy, Lil' Mimi, you know they flipped the raw
My Dipset, oh yeah, they 'bout it
16 shots up out the Glock, I come up out it
[Verse 4: Master P]
I represent the South, now the world gon' feel us
Worth $400 mill', still dump with guerillas
I'm in the project posted up, like Toys"R"Us
Retire my jersey – 65 for every chicken I plucked
Pass the purple stuff, whodi, it's time to get swerk
Up on the block, 1,000 grams on Hogan and Kirk
We in them t-shirts and doo rags
P. Miller throwbacks when the No Limit boys in the house
Haters get back, Hot One hold it down
In foreign ghettoes, Big Boys, Uptown, Rocheblave and Erato
C-Murder locked up, but his name still ringing
Me and Silkk getting yoked – riding, hustling, and slanging
You know we 'bout it, I mean we rowdy!

[Outro: Master P]
You know we 'bout it, I mean we rowdy!
New Orleans to the ATL – you know they 'bout it, 'bout it
St. Louis – they keep it swanging
L.A. to Las Vegas – them homies out there gang banging
Oklahoma to Tennessee, them boys ain't playing
'Cause you know they B-O-U-T
Texas, Florida – Detroit, Georgia
Them boys done graduated from an 8th up on to water-water
Kansas 'bout it – Virginia rowdy!
Illinois boys to Mississippi – 'bout it, 'bout it
New York, Arizona, the Bay Area, the whole California!
North Carolina, South Carolina – throw dem 'bows
Pennsylvania, Alabama – 'bout to let 'em know
Missouri, rowdy – Boston, 'bout it!
The New No Limit, Roc-A-Fella, is 'bout it, 'bout it