[Intro: Killah BH (Joe Budden)]
This is "Family Reunion" (Mic check, mic check.) We gotta school y'all to the game (One, two, one, two.) You know what? Let's talk to 'em. Let's go (Let's go. The wolves is out, n***a. Get 'em, boy.)

[Verse 1: Ransom]
Ain't nobody tryna rap or play me
I'll be at they crib with a couple hammers and a black old AV
Black gon' pay me, still get the smack off Baisley
'Cause I'm touching more diesel than Shaq old lady
Boy, you did it, I done it, I get it, I punish
The shit that I come with'll seperate a rib from a stomach
I'm the boss, when I spit it, you love it, matter fact
I'm a Viking, I need a whole village to plumage
Yeah, the n***a is here, the city is scared
You got the throne? Then I think I need to sit in your chair
We could really get physical here
And the sky's the limit n***a, I put your whole clique in the air
Baby, so quit playing, 'fore the clips spray 'em
And have his ass M.I.A. like Nick Saban
His whole shit caved in, my whole clique cavemen
Hard bodied n***a, my whole shit pavement
You can't spit if you dead in the ground
In the woods, where you had to be found
And it's good that you getting it now
In the precinct confessing it now
I can't fuck with the rest of you clowns, [?]
[Verse 2: Hitchcock]
I am the silence before the storm, Lincoln Park, the Audubon
Slang rock on the same block that the water on
I be more than gone, run and get your order form
Next time I record a song, gon' put my daughter on
'Cause she realer than most n***as, I tote triggers
For you broke n***as and gold diggers with no figures
That why I palm the heater, for all you non-believers
I'm on your ass like white on Rice, I'm Condoleezza
Better con the preacher, you tryna get on a feature
Better get your casket bastard, I'm gon' eat ya
We ain't in the same weight class, your fake-ass
Couldn't stop a n***a with brake pads, I'm way past
Anything that you ever did, I'm better kid
And we never sweat a bid, it's easy to get a cig
In the bing, I'm like Ving Rhames, I bring pain
I sling 'caine off the wing like I'm King James
Y'all doubting who
When I spit the whole lead, they be calling Code Red like Mountain Dew
'Fore I count to two you could get your back blown
'Cause your gimmicks out of minutes like a TracFone
Get back homes, I'm back on my shit
I don't mingle, I'm like Pringles: stacking my chips
Clapping my fifth, you the test me type
Coming out with a Blade to get Wesley Sniped
So the cops could arrest me, right, it's not happening
You ain't ever gonna get on, so stop rapping
H20 coming this summer, so stop asking
All heat like Wall Street, ya stock crashing
Now the Feds want to read his rights
Lord have mercy, Jesus Christ, I got passion
I'm Black and all my n***as getting this 'feti
We in the Chevy and ready to pop tags
[Chorus: Joe Budden & Fabolous]
So whatever you try and do lil n***as
I already done (Done)
And since you wan' live by it lil n***a
Then die by the gun (Gun, hol' up)
So whatever you try and do lil n***a (Like we always do [?])
I already done (Done) (D-d-damn)
So how the fuck you gon' win little n***a? (Yes)
I've already won (Won) (Let's go, uh-huh)

[Verse 3: Fabolous]
Ayo, money is the root of all evil I thought
But when I'm broke is when I usually have the evilest thoughts
That's when the arms come out, like sleeves when it's short
With more bullets than your favorite wide receiver has caught
And that Randy Mossberg, ya Steve Smith & Wesson ya
The shoes pop up like Instant Messenger
You've got mail, nah, n***a, you got shells
And my MAC, you can't use for iChat
I've got that, confused that with lie flat
And my gat is on leg like thigh tat
I that n***a, who you dudes?
Some broke n***as who tryna get some Youtube views
So 'less you want a point blank, boy, you're too close
Bail's in pocket, this is Lawyer Lou Los
I'm pretty sure more hotties seen me in that four door ridey
Double pipes like a sawed off shotty, n***a
[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
I flow sickly, riding, bumping old Biggie
Roll with me or lose weight, Nicole Richie
Fuck plat', if I don't reach diamond fame
I treat a n***a face like that old Simon game
Figured out why men try us, 'cause we O.D
On rims and thin tires, for that we Len Bias
All it take is a punch, he ain't brave, he a punk
I'll put his family in boxes, meet the Brady Bunch
How y'all feel yourselves? Should kill yourselves
Us Cowboys don't need you, you Bill Parcells
And you ain't gotta empty your pockets when the K's out
Whatever you holding is mine, we my PayPal
See I don't get how this guy is a threat
I make his life inept for a pie to the neck
Ride or die, I do both n***a, ride to the death
I a cappella the whole left side of his chest
Not retiring, still got that pension pending
Tryna pop the hood and see the engine missing
Double barrelled shotgun, how your men get missing
She got pretty brown eyes and she in mint condition
Oh, the cig in the car, you dissin' moi
Take the ratchet go home and just Chris Benoit
Tell a bird like it is, you promise the broad
I one line her, you Isiah Thomas the broad
I could send a clique cartridge at a nemesis target
And catch a R.O.R. on some Jena 6 charges
Nah, I'll put this thing away, I don't even need a
Whole hairdo to clip 'em, all it take is one finger wave
Been in the [?] for days, show you how I'm real
Come home to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill
Handed out crack, got the scene poppin' off
They not sleepin on 'em, the fiends is nodding off
All real, tell me how you a thug and you Superman
I just seen you in the club doing the Superman
A bunch of clowns homes, all I
Need in this world is the pound chrome, Huxtable brown stone
Major paper, cake by the layers
If these dudes is live, I'm the Create-A-Player
They callin 'em Kings when they so so hot
Something's wrong with that picture, must be Photoshopped
I don't promote violence, but when sparkin' the flame, blame
Arms start waving like the Carlton Banks dance
When them tools go pop, it move whole blocks
Come around with your dog and get Kujo shot
These MC's is lame, I try to be a MC with brains
These n***as is MC Brains
Being nice, rappers is far from being nice
I'm on the rooftop recording, n***as is being sniped
It's like

[Chorus (Condensed): Joe Budden]
So whatever you try and do lil n***as
I already done (Done)
And since you wan' live by it lil n***a
Then die by the gun (Gun, hol' up)
So whatever you try and do lil n***a