[Intro: Busta Rhymes]
Feel good, don't it, Pap?
Congratulations my n***a
We fuckin' hot n***a, yeah

[Verse 1: Busta Rhymes]
How many more times we gon have to kill it
We so hot we might as well barbecue and grill it
Muhfucka, tailor-made pony skin on my Louis jacket
Hey, Pap is now inducted in a disrespectful tax bracket
Flipmode, bitch, you already know in conjunction with Street Sweeper
Come enjoy the fuckin show, peep
Enhancing the situation, I be the answer
Spit fire hot, I'm developing sores of skin cancer
N***as is buggin' and coverin' they mouth
Still wondering on how the situation came about
Keep tryin to figure it out, while we continue to upgrade
Fryin your brain cell, tryna study every move made
We hotter than a drug block, police we duckin' em
Even duckin' them bitches hallucinating we fuckin' em
It feel good don't it Pap, real big
With million dollar yard space not including the crib


[Verse 2: Papoose]
Too hot for living, too hot for dying
Too hot for laughing, I'm too hot for crying
Too hot for math, too hot for science
Too hot for them cause they not hot as I am
Too hot for sessions, too hot for blessings
So hot that I'm too hot for Hot 97
Too hot for internet, too hot for TV
Too hot for MTV VH1 BET
Too hot for magazines, too hot for movies
Too hot for cars, I'm too hot for jewelery
Too hot for interviews, too hot for interludes
Too hot for criminals, too hot for principal
Too hot for miserable broke individuals
Too hot for soldiers, I'm too hot for generals
Too hot to listen to, hope I'm convincing you
Don't ever think you too hot, that could finish you