[Intro: Samples]
Here we go, AK-47, the very best days
When you absolutely, positively, got to kill every motherfucker in the room, except no substitutes

Nothing gets between me and my AK

[Intro: Dirty Sanchez]
It's New Yuck City baby, uh
It's Dirty, look

[Verse 1: Dirty Sanchez]
Dirty don't dance
How he so cool, you can tell he got fans
You microwave n***as get your plans foiled
Chances are, you can't stand
On your own two, so you fell through the quicksand
Probably why i am so over your head (Haha, hah)
And for the bread and butter I leave n***as in the gutter
Dear summer, I remind 'em of you how we son 'em
Used to be a little brother, now I fund 'em
Fundamental, trustin' good, not trusting is better
Said I climb the latter to success, 47 Style
I was outside looking in and now I'm looking out
Told 'em catch up, but they couldn't, so they Sauerkraut

[Hook 1: Dirty Sanchez]
Pull the sours out n***a, uh
Pull the sours out n***a, uh
Pull the sours out n***a, uh
Pull the sours out n***a, n***a, n***a
It's Dirty
[Verse 2: Jakk The Rhymer]
The return of the skully fryer
Hot rhymer, the rotten jotter
Who knew that [?] would build like the [?]
And the flow just got hotter
I ain't running out of stock
I'm fryed like I'm literally running out the pot
Dealers on the corner stoned, by the buildings selling weed and rock
I stick my head out the window
Who got the sours, I'll pass it
So I can blast it, to the last hit
Right after I acid, they put me in the casket
I be immortalized as a dope rapper
Pack the dope in tobacco, I smoke 'til i catch throat cancer
Yo, if I was on the block, I move the dope faster
Your set will never get the work like your show canceled (No)
You probably smoked the joke because it show master
I wanna grow master
I need the whole pastor
Yo, so I can get high when the sours out
When we down and out we figured how to turn the frown around
N***as still getting high when the sours out

[Hook 2: Jakk The Rhymer]
Pull the fucking sours out, uh
Pull the fucking sours out, uh
Pull the fucking sours out, n***a, n***a
[Verse 3: Rokamouth]
Pull the sours out, I think a drought up in my burrow
So that's without a doubt, with every ounce we smoking thorough
I need a heater, light beneath this sweet and sour
THC
I pack a power punch, yo that's a blunt, I want the fronto leaf
Know all you want you front of me
But I'm still living comfortably
And naturally, all you wannabes still rolling up your sleeves
And ain't receive your lessons I taught to tame these seeds
And ain't believe it, I perceive what few achieve with ease
Live at SOB's, killing y'all without looking
All I need is more bookings
Because I got enough to put in, and keep it sweet like a pudding
If I'm cooking, got my foot in like I do win it for Brooklyn
Overlooking all I took in
And we'll keep it pushing, pens up in the kush and
Cause I'm a real musician, my position up in the kitchen
Chopping every rhythm with precision
Listen, then cutting 'sitions
Into the track, that attracts, all of my rap friends
Out the trap to bring that loud pack back to my house
47, Rokamouth, tell the motherfuckers

[Hook 3: Rokamouth]
Pull the sours out, n***a, n***a
Pull the sours out, n***a
[Outro: Capital STEEZ]
As Ls turn to clips
Clips turn to roaches, and those turn to bowl hits, oh shit
Looks like we getting high again
That's another gram going straight to my diaphragm