[Verse 1: Proof]
They wish that they could bear me, black, D12 standing back
No planning that, Def methods, we got a hand in that
Whoever run this shit, you get a jammed knee cap
Make the healthy kids in your fam handicapped
You a fan of rap? My clan attack your school, home, your bitch house
Pull my nine milli: you gon' die with your fist out
I'm here in this; it's over with. Venomous as cobra spit
Drunken dialect; we're aggressive sober, bitch
My bionic fires demolish your larynx
Demonic as tainted chronic. Impossible to hold down like vomit
Mics, I palm it. Your state, I'll bomb it
Like terrorists that's Islamic. I enter your atmosphere like a comet
The new god of rap: call me 'N***a Thor'
Snap your back when I slap your ass in a figure-four
From miles around they can feel it's lethal
I make hardcore groups like Wu Tang look like the Village People
No sequel. The general with the sinner style
Abort your mind-state and kill your inner child

[Verse 2: Bizarre]
It's been a while since you bitch-n***as heard of me
Cause the last six months I been doing R&B
But now I'm on some sick shit; n***as better duck quick
You don't know who you're fucking with; I'll leave you n***as breathless
Seeing me and Bugz rolling in the blue hummer
You a bitch: scared to shoot like Lindsay Hunter
Don't need to be a father cause I'm just to illmatic
I'll probably poison my kids like flowers in the alley
Fuck your anorexic, neglects it, fuck a Lexus
I'm doing drive-bys on fusion BMXs
[Verse 3: Bugz]
I know a girl who said she's free, yo and her sign is a Leo
Bugzy fucked her in a Regal then she took me to my PO
Fuck rolling ceelo; I'm down to a C-note
Lost a G rolling dice in that punk-ass casino
But fuck it, cause when times get bad
See me in drag, whipping macs on unsuspecting fags
I gotta shoot. Bitch, you got the boot
And hurry up with it: I'm trying to catch this prostitute

[Verse 4: Kuniva]
I'm the n***a that spotted ya; spit something hot at ya
Rip your Nautica; saw you backstage and shot at ya
And kill subliminally. You can go on
And spin your group name 25 times in one song
I'll still write about you. Hip-hop is better off without you
Blowing n***as outta they bathrobes and funky house shoes
For the hell of it, I fuck Missy Elliott
Don't give a fuck if her belly gets in my way: I'm still nailing it
Got this verbal tech nine spitting at you for telling shit
Get this dead body off the mic: I'm tired of smelling it

[Verse 5: Kon Artis]
Fuck it: let's have a scrap-out. Fuck around with us and see what happen
We all got them guns blapping; got y'all n***as back tracking
Ya, we dump bodies in seashores
Busting DJs over they backs with keyboards
Turn up my levels. Your crew is fruitier than pebbles
Changing you razorback emcees to running rebels
Bust up. Kon Artis: quick to smack your slut up
Keep a pack of rubbers just in case I gotta nut up
Brigade-style hold 'em out down; that's how it's meant to be
You kick the same shit: your whole tape sound like a symphony
Don't say shit to me. It's DP conning your daughter
Talking bitches outta they panties, dollars and last quarters
Like that horseman, I'll leave you wack clowns headless
Rastafarians come to my show and leave dreadless
Whoever said this slash-rapper-and-producer wouldn't make your head twist?
Guard your grill and your necklace
[Hook: DJ Jewels Baby] [x4]
I got six reasons why we keep shit coming
Dirty Dozen left n***as running for cover
Hiding behind they lovers; skirting off, peeling rubber
As we shout "don't fuck with Dirty Dozen"

[Outro: Proof & Bugz]
Yeah yeah bitch (what what)
We'll bring it to your crew
We'll bring it to your crew
Any of y'all
Die bitch
Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen
Dirty Dozen
Bugz
Proof
Bizarre
Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen
Da Brigade bitch
DJ Head
Don't fuck with Dirty Dozen
The saga starts right now
If you ain't down with us from this day on
Then fuck you