Lyrics: Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
N***as on the left, brag shit to death
Now hoods on the right, wild for the night
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to...

[Verse 1 - Zin-Zeta]

Ayo, hustlas, gangstas, bustas, wankstas
Cornballs, warhols, all y'all, I thank ya
For bumpin' Zetaphore Productions and Gravity
The Cut-Man and Graphic, B, back when were practically beggin' whores to hump him
We came a long way and now the metaphors are buzzin'
I remember when my mutha-f*ckin' credit score was nothin'
Now, we make enough dough to break bread with all our cousins... they never saw this comin'
Who expected all this clubbin'. T
He hunnies been lovin' me since they saw me on "Baby Girl" and heard me on "Half A Dozen."
My lyrics got'em jumpin', so their jugs are jugglin'
They huddle around me with their bubbles and let me touch'em
Once they get a hold of me, I might bend them over -
Have'em titties lookin' over-easy, and smash ovaries

[Verse 2 - Gravity]

Ayo, snake-skin snap-back, cocked by the dome-piece
Dime-piece givin' dome-piece till I fall 'sleep
Wake up half-baked... breath-stench... Hennessy
The brain was so good that the b*tch took my memory
Everyday's a new day/new brain
That means, my memory's gone temporarily
B*tch I'm a dog - a brand-new pedigree. The type to hold it down... tits... Gravity
My dick's by her cavities
I'm sick, like a room full of mutha-f*ckin' allergies - the illest n***a rappin', B
[Verse 3 - Young Cutta]

Yeah... CUTTA!
Music make'em jam, but the gun don't, 'cause I keep the clip clean
Bust a n***a's dome; turn his dream into a split-screen
Young n***a, but I got big dreams
I was better than n***as when I was sixteen
Real rap, n***a. Check my f*ckin' resumé
I'm in the booth, cookin' up the soup; I got the recipe
You can't box with the n***a; you're a featherweight
N***a's mad, 'cause I'm after Jay like the letter 'K'