[Verse 1: Rah Digga]
I be the worst nightmare to all the MC thugs (Uh)
Like them four little kids and the teacher gettin' plugged
(With the) I don't give a fuck style, tell me come jiggy
I rock, kix and swishees, coppin' moet wit' 2 counterfeit 50's, what?
Dirty girl rhyme spit mucous, speech uncouth
And raise the roof like Lukas
12 years done rocked through all phases
Watch yo' peeps scream the bitch was the blazest

[Verse 2: Spliff Starr]
N***as run they mouth about my click, not smart (So what)
I butt your blood clot, then drop you 'pon the sidewalk
(Chi-chi-chi-Blow!!!)
Hit yo' ass with a vicious blow (Hah)
You know my style, Spliff the foul through your stereo (That's right, yeah)
Spliff Starr ignorant immigrant, I'm gettin' it (That's right)
Money, fast car, fine broads, what, I'm hittin' it (That's right)
Raw shit, I'm spittin' it (That's right), at you and yours
Make you feel the pain, n***a like the dick to your balls
Thug blood fluid pumpin' in the face of my music (Uh-huh)
Drop the street shit, watch the whole world rock to it
N***a squad-

[Verse 3: Baby Sham]
Squad had em opin', had his bitch scopin' (Uh-huh)
Sittin' by the bar sippin' Heinken's totein' (So what, yeah)
Pinky rings glowin' triple beams to the club (What?)
My man is half thug givin' me pounds and hold grudge (Come on)
Feelin' my shit (What), so I can put a lock on your clique (Uh-huh)
Your style is past tense
Hold on, hold on, you just started rappin'
Ever since you heard the shit we fuckin' wit' is platinum (Ah)
Slow your growth, stop the show, go at you both
Hit you with more bars than soap
Sham is the name, feelin' in vain, fiendin' for dope
[Hook: Buckshot]
Yeah, you know we got cha opin', don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin'
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin'
You know we got cha opin'

[Verse 4: Rampage]
N***as made me mad and now I wanna clap shit (Uh)
I reign supreme in this muthafuckin' rap shit (Uh)
I lost my mind, I can't get it back (What?) the way that I'm spittin', yo
I split ya fuckin' wig back (Uh!), don't front, my squad got you opin' (Uh)
Hit you with a buck fifty, here's a token (Uh)
Ramp' is smokin' (Uh), I'm no joke and I leave your face broken (Uh!)
This is survival of the fittest, get wit' us (Uh)
All you critics and bullshitters, my nine goes bang (Uh), I'm talkin' street slang (Slang)
I'm reppin' Flipmode plus I'm doin' my thang
On the side (Uh) we won't let it ride (Uh), n***a don't hide
(Hide, hide...)

[Verse 5: Lord Have Mercy]
Landlord innovator, switch lanes, no indicator
The general, cash generator, master and saviour
N***a stay massive in nature, when tooth shatter ya die, bone
In the savage cyclone of cops, sirens and cases
Who read the bible for basics?
When I'm crooked eye with rivals
Horizontal in God's places
Suspicious of all (Now, who dat?)
Quick on the draw, lick a paw
For loved ones blood runs cold in the winter wars
Check the criminal thoughts, villains warp with the invincible force
Know the ledge, stay focused like photo lens
And spread wings like Cobra heads 'til I'm old and dead
[Verse 6: Busta Rhymes]
Hot shit, toxic, you know we block shit
Traffic in the streets system, all in yo' jeep knocks shit
Julio for no reason, back the fifth and he cocks it
Rock shit, we make n***as mad and wanna pop shit
Massive, so attractive, n***as is captive
Chemotherapy needed, lyrics radioactive
When I hit hard it get my dick hard
In my backyard, analyse the stars on how to defeat all odds
In a new zone, I'm on a new phone
Make most of the whackest rapper n***as wanna find they new home
Like Rasco jeans, my style flip two-tone, pass my blue chrome
Here's one of the best of Busta Rhymes own
My debut made you wonder who shit blazes so much
You wish you could play out so you could blaze, too
Before I shout you, or get reason to doubt you
I study shit and re-analyse everything about you
My rhymes on the preserve, n***as know we deserve
Everything up in your stash and in the reserve, fuck that!
Hook up all my lyrics on the echoes and the reverbs
Never fuck with these herbs, my squad remains superb

[Verse 7: Buckshot]
(Heh) Walkin' through the streets, under-covers follow us
Stressed muthafuckas on the regular to bust, trust us
We don't get enough, n***a wha-what?
Dirty baggy jeans, black nap-sack with somethin' for ya gut
Wooly-type skully, fully strapped, black bulletproof, to match
Quick whip up a batch of bullets to blow up the map
Shit collapse, perhaps doin' this in the raps
In the long time, ya trapped, Buck make 'em react
God verse attack, let 'em know the moon is still black
And it's a fact, don't front
[Hook: Buckshot]
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin'
You know we got cha opin', don't front
You know we got cha opin', yo, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front
You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin'
Flipmode got cha opin', yo

[Outro: Buckshot]
Huh, word life
Yeah, mad n***as opin'
Word life, Flipmode, muthafuckin' Buckshot
Mad n***a scopin', smokin'
Buck to ya brain, uh

[Skit: Intro to "Straight Spittin"]

[Busta Rhymes]
Mm-hm-hm-hm, yeah, motherfucker
See, this the part of the album, where we gon' take all y'all n***as to the basement
Where the authentic hip-hop thoroughbred representation shit is at
The basement shit, muh'fucka, feel this