[Intro: Proof]
This what they need to know
They need to know this is some Sicknotes shit, you hear me? (Sicknotes)
They need to know that shit
This also some Promatic shit, ya hear me?
That's Dogmatic and Proof, ya hear me?
We Don't Like U
We Don't Like U (Detroit what?!)
Esham, We Don't Like U
ICP, we don't Like y'all, now listen

[Verse 1: Proof]
Lets go back before rapping and mixing and toasting and dubbing
When I was making bread without a loaf in the oven
I'll snipe at the closest of your cousins
Put you on a poster for fronting (See that? Now don't do that)
Blew back your wig, that's how New Jacks get did
After a few tracks and beers, kicking new raps for ears
Y'all Ready To Die like B.I.G. recorded?
When your flow is shittier than rigor mortis
For all the kids deported, I rid the borders
I swallowed the weed, jumped the bridge's shoulders
Players that run the D don't use words
Like "Shhh".... ya heard?
Proof is now its own, for now and known
I'm a grounded mole, while I plow your home
Spit flames, now n***a your brows are gone
You ain't shit, I'm a thousand miles from wrong
I'll eradicate your molecules
And even if your Momma had swallowed you, or your Pops pulled out on you
I don't like you overnight hype with mics, that
Have little trife fights with dykes
Have Mountain Climbaz, [?] the pipes
BLAOW! Then yo' wife sniped your life
Over my verses n***as high from this spit
You don't even hear the boom 'cause you die from the clip, little bitch
[Chorus x2: Dogmatic & Proof]
Proof don't like you
'Matic don't like you
We Don't Like U
BIATCH!

[Verse 2: Dogmatic, Proof & Both]
Yo, live from Detroit it's Saturday Night
As I bite down on these shrooms, I'm bound to fight
Snatching ice on sight (Bitch it's Devil's Night)
Give me fifty cent worth of gas and a rag to light
Ayo we blowing up your house, you think we playing?
WE BLOWIN UP YOUR HOUSE! Know what I'm saying?
You a accident waiting to happen
And just as soon I'm finished rapping, my 380 'bout to start clapping
You better hope that I'm high when I see you (Ayo wassup)
And if I'm high, still I'm walking by when I see you
And if I'm sober it's all fuckin over
You better hope you never see the 'Matic no more
Get your little ligaments tore, have your jaw sore
Attack your whack [?] like a fucking wild boar
Punk the hardest n***a, treat him like a whore
My face in the dictionary under hardcore
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "'Matic, don't hit me no more
Punch him in the nose and shoot him in the shin
Let him know, me and them hoe n***as ain't friends
[Sample]
You little bitch
BIATCH!
BIATCH!

[Chorus x2: Dogmatic & Proof]
Proof don't like you
'Matic don't like you
We Don't Like U
BIATCH!

[Verse 3: Obie Trice]
I don't even like you dog but since you here
I might as well throw yo' up out of that chair
Put you in a figure 4
Grab my beer and crack you over the head with it and buy some more
I'm so secure with my Thug Life
That I rarely start fights, the name's on y'all (COME ON!)
Obie Trice, the name's all me
Dirty like the Dozen you hear on CD
Or Sick like the Notes
Dogmatic [?]
Nope, oh, no joke get smoked (BLAOW!)
Provoke your funeral, front row yo' folks
I'm just a man with a Glock in my hand
That plan to send slugs through n***as I can't stand
Since [?] the topic, stare these n***a dead in the optic
And watch the Glock spit n***a, 'cause We Don't Like U
[Chorus x2: Dogmatic & Proof]
Proof don't like you
'Matic don't like you
We Don't Like U
BIATCH!