[Intro: Bugz]
Yeah, y'all faggots—
(Hear me? Yeah.. ready set.. then take shit)
Y'all, the fuck? Who wanna battle, what?
None of y'all, do you? (no)
Dirty Dozen, Outsidaz (what?) bitch
Who wanna battle?
Song dedicated to Geeney....

[Verse One: Bugz]
Gimmie some hash, and when I trip n***a give me a mask
Then after that lend me a mag and gimmie yo' cash
That precious thing you call a life, I put an end to, fast
Get in your ass if you unhappily leave Eagle Man (yeah)
You in a see through glass, don't pay much to breeze through class (bitch)
You broke as fuck and on the bus because your Regal’s smashed
This shit is lethal, fag, battle me, I keep you mad
Put you in a sleeper, drag your ass to the reaper’s pad
Either blast, or feel the wrath of my heater, lad
Lyric punches makin meters blast, turn your speaker out
Rear, club, or anywhere where it’s people at
They love my tape, couldn't care where they leave's you at
Your girl's a rat, tell that ho I'm not gon' beep her back (beep, beep)
Don't need her, black, got too many other neater rats
Who heater fat? I bet your gat ain't fuckin wit’ my gat
I'm loading lyrics, sayin’ the vocals that you almost clap (clap clap)
Don't clap, you more wack than a cold sack
You shown that when you blow, that's a known fact
Clone rap, sucka MC fraud, need to pick another fued
What? And find you a job, or either go out and rob because
Rappin ain'tcha function, you outta place
Like a two of hearts and two of diamond in a game of spades
While my innovative ways, shoot ya lyrics to a blaze
Put a grimace on your grave, I'mma Guinness on the page
The history, putting sucka n***as out they misery
It's not a mystery, my victories are bodacious (hah)
It wouldn't matter if the judge is racist
And I was battling’ your aces in your bitches basement
I'm unfuck-witable, thats literal, face it, the general
The sisters of a senate-al, holdin on my genitals
Right before I send the blows, down to earth like minerals
Even after centerfolds (grr arf!) the videos, my evil goes
Incognito hoes, I'mma skitle bros, meaning biter
I hope you n***as catch a case of arthrit-ah
You ain't no riders, and still don't even have a slider
I D’ her when you need me, we gon' burst in into fighters (yeah, yeah bitch!)
You motherfuckin biter
[Hook]
Cock, and, squeeze, bust, Dirty Dozen, don't fuck wit us
Detriot n***as roll deep, hold heat, and talk slick
Yeah, yeah bitch - stay off my dick!

[Verse Two: Kon Artis]
That's the time that you up and cuttin you wit a knife
The situan, the alcohol bath for the night
Then watch the struggling, you squeal for your life (uh-huh)
Dump a radio bumping your demo in the bath and your life
That's what I take from you, meet you and fake humble
Attack your foundation until it crumble
So me and my dawg be on stumble
Come off 'gnac but stayin in the right mind
It's the blazin track and we're back, for fake individuals that rap
Screamin’ out they group name like they scared and shit
Knownin that the Kon Artis come prepared wit clips
Full of them male scritches (what?)
You watch and take pictures (how you do that?)
Notes and write down quotes and 'bout how I rap and get witcha
Told you n***as before we got much the game
Nuttin to lose, corruptin the lives of all groups
Tie 'em up and put 'em in situations to hurt 'em
Tie 'em up to trees, and shoot darts at 'em
Wit venom in 'em, then murder 'em, servin 'em right
He be, the Kon Artis {*screech*} swervin the night
We rock from state to state (uh-huh) and city to city
You make us sick like a fat bitch tryin’ silicon titties
And already wear a size D bra, I wanna die wit tight shit
Give it to y'all bleak, raw, raw, raw, raw, raw
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
[Hook]
Cock, and, squeeze, bust, Dirty Dozen, don't fuck wit us
Detriot n***as roll deep, hold heat, and talk slick
Yeah, yeah bitch - stay off my dick!

[Verse Three: Proof]
Gimmie a second, I’m iller than Mina, check it out
I turn a hard n***a yellow, and bake his ass faster than a cheetah
Don't blaze no blunts (uh-huh) but I blaze them thangs
Amaze your gang, with bullets, I rattle your frame
Who's that, bustin at, Big Suburban, hustle that
Play wit three bitches alias and four hustlin’
Bustin three Glocks, on your block
Yellin my name loud, puttin bombs inside your mailbox (pow!)
And prepare docks - punch your dreadlocks, wait for the cops
And tell 'em that yo' ass had beef wit Biggie and 2Pac (WHAT?!)
I lit the flesh (uh-huh) shot bled to death (what?)
Like Red and Meth, you need the hoop-a, shoop-a
For battlin boards, got on a moyer, I sat on your horse
Got battled thanks to your tours, show up at you
Battlin your eyecore, pure wit this shit
On your mic rip, you might slip, fall, hang it up
Like Sonny Corleone, peace to Borleone
Rock 'til the early morn', shit is on
Gotta a problem fiend, fiend problems
My crew mug shot D-12 uglier than the green goblin
I bring fear too, horror, near you
A fact why nobody wanna hear you, you wack BITCH!
What the fuck you thought what happened
When bullets start collapsin your frame?
Maintain to bring pain, freestyle fanatic named Pete
First is off the paper, this one turn your auto vapor
Me, MC, the extraordinar', steppin on your bunion
Screamin "7 Mile bitch, come from Runyan"
Hold down your fort, snort like cocaine
Richard Pryor, I clap more clips than the livest squire
Yeah, yeah bitch, what the fuck you thought?
Ya n***as get caught short, I'm incredible like the hulk
Watchin the facet n***a, P-R, the letter O
My sex is hetero, cash checks like federal
Yo head’ll roll, bitch! Hahahaha