(DJ Paul, intro)
Finally!
I got all real n***as on a motherfuckin' posse song!
N***as that's down to cut some motherfuckin heads!
From here to ATL, to Nashville, back to the M-Town, n***a
And you know what that means, bitch!

Makin' easy money, pimpin' hoes is serious, bitch
Makin' easy money, pimpin' hoes is serious, n***a!

(Verse 1, Project Pat)
Call a n***a, drug dealer
Out here on the track n***a
Weed smoker, coke snorter
Come and get a pack, n***a
'Cain slanger, bitch banger
Dogg I bring it to ya
If you got a problem wit' me
Holla at my Luger
'Dro puffer, cheese cuffer
When we on the jack-jack
Hit'cha in the head wit' that Gat
Til' ya skull crack
Blood gushin', head-rushin'
At first, no discussion
Come wit' that bullshit
Then them bullets start bustin'
(Verse 2, Killa Klan Kaze)
First crime, we came wit' "Mystic Stylez"
I rhyme, you slip
I "Live by my Rep", don't fuck wit' mine
"The End", the souls of men
They beggin' inside the posse
The Prophet, the Posse
We all collide, we brew
The trap-titute, to end they phase
I'm outty
And crime reminds Crazed in Last Days
Hypno-tize and blazed another gold plate
"Sixty-Six, Sixty-One"
The smoke cleared, evaporate

(Verse 3, Juicy J)
I got a three-fifty-seven
A Tech wit' a black clip
A hundred-eighty pounds
Wit' a fist that gon' bust lips
Some killas on my side
If I tell 'em, they gon' get
A fool violatin' the business he ain't wit'
And now in 2000, he talkin' the same shit
And now in 2000, I bust and I won't miss
The smoke is in the air
The liquor is still a fifth
The groupies still rollin'
The curls ain't no kick foo
(Verse 4, Killa Klan Kaze)
The first one of us is done
Hollow-tips come by the ton
Wit' two AK's and plus a drum
To leave these n***a's bodies numb
I don't talk this shit for fun
Cock it back and let it go
Wit' six shots, from the Three-6 shooters
Lettin' 'em know, whoa
Picture me, naked-faced to kickin' in yo door
Four, n***as deep, bandanas wit' black Calico's
So, when we creep, duck
Cause I might hit you nine times
Take yo nine lives
Jump up and hypnotize yo mind
Blaow!

(Verse 5, Crunchy Black)
You can believe this
You can believe that
And believe I got, a baseball bat
And I'm bustin' yo head, black
And believe I'm comin' strong
And believe I'm all grown
And believe, that n***a I love to get it on
No half-steppin', I gots the weapon
A Boom-Boom! I'm blastin' at'cha
I'm out to get'cha, believe that
I love to kill, I love the thrill
And I love to put a n***a's body parts in the field, n***a!
(Verse 6, La Chat)
I'm gon' go blastin' to get this bitch
Ain't got no time for no shit
Gotta hope my boys don't make no noise
Just throw that trick in the ditch
Ain't know way La Chat gon' let'cha slide
Wit' the shit that'cha done
I got my bruise on what I do
To show you folks one-by-one
A sheisty bitch, without no punch
Just got no love in my heart
It ain't no boy that I can't handle
Keep that tone in my trunk
This ain't no threat, I speak the truth
Gotta come too thick to get me
I'm warnin' you hoes before you come
That that ain't gon' be easy

(Verse 7, Koopsta Knicca)
Man a bitch'll take that loot
Without a pussy for them papers
Get the fuck away from me, ho!
Because the Koop can't stand the vapors
Take her, break her, to whoop that funky bitch
Talkin' that shit about this man
You gets yo chest up in yo arm, bitch
Yeaah, we can do it
Take yo time, do it right
You can give me the fuckin' chew
And I could fuck ya all night
Wanna fight about'cho friends
See how that be, just don't start
See now that's that type of shit
That get my muh'fuckin dick hard

(Verse 8, T-Rock)
Gather the Mac-11's and load 'em full of ammunition
Terrorist sets, we pull him like I'm in the Expedition
All seven n***as, got guns equivelent to what we pack
Nuclear pistols, and fire-scorchin' automatic Gats
How in the fuck can you handle the
Busted amateur
Toss the bitch over the banister
Like trash canisters
Hollow-points into yo gathered troops
When I have to shoot
Plus I be storin' the calf of you
And drinkin' Absolute

(Verse 9, Killa Klan Kaze)
I woke up early Saturday mornin'
Cellular phone was ringin' off the charger
Thinkin' to myself, man is it a bitch?
A cop or, it's them robbers
Pardon Mr. Mac, off in the scheme
I'm stangin' for my dividends
And pay a livin', ain't makin no brother
My cheese gon' reach the ceiling-fan
You can catch me in that burgandy thang
On grizzle when you see me
You can joke me and provoke me
Best believe the bleedin' is ig'nant
Fuck the reason and the treason
When time to get dirty, n***a bet our prophet
You was gaspin' for yo last breath
All I heard was Killa Klan Kaze

(Verse 10, DJ Paul)
These bitches think we playin'
Think this killa shit a joke
Come fuck around wit' HCP
And get'cho ass smoked, ho
Comin' wit' some fully-auto's
Fuck some semi's
Hit him wit' some hollow-auto's
Cause I despis-ise
Blast 'em like some ralo bate's
For y'all mayates
Equipped wit' double clips and duct-tape
And wicked wiz-ays
And I prefer it keep me busy in my free-time
Caught 'em in the curry, and I'm knowin' they wanna re-wind
Give you second thoughts about that business you didn't finish, right?
Took you to the vault, cash it in, all-night flight
And I'm in a bad mood
Cocaine make it that
Plus I got east holder
Nine-mili willy, n***a I slang wit' that

(DJ Paul)
Bitch!
N***a, HCP
N***a, HCP
Hypnotize Camp Posse, n***a
What! What!
HCP, n***a
HCP, Hypnotize Camp Posse