[Verse 1: Kid Frost]
I got a homeboy who was always down to watch my back
Cause there's some foos I didn’t shoot who don't know how to act
And I'm not solo, if you know that Frost is always strapped
Like all the other gangsters in the street who sport the baseball cap
Your boy gets all pissed when you jump style
I look at you, I know you’re soft and so I have to smile
You got some [?] test your stamina
I WWF you and body slam you
Homie, homie, don't you know me when I'm on the move
Tecas behind me, rocking shit with the gangster groove
And so I fall on my lyrics is like a [?]
And everything is going to court in a plan, damn
All of sudden in the background
It's four gangbangers and these foos got attacked down
Screaming and yelling and cussing
They make much noise, it's song, go get the homeboys

[Verse 2: Kid Frost]
Here's comes the streets wise, slick quick
Ready to kick your ass if try to roll to thick
Bust a sid and looked disgusted
So W-D40 the punks that I rusted
I got a million ways to do your end
I finish you and laugh with sinister gangster grin
My homies who knows what's up from the gecko
So it's all about backing up the set bro
Are you down is the question they ask me
Man, I’m the Frost foo and I’m OG
And just because I'm making records
Stepping without my weapon makes me feel butt naked
So I stay on to the hill
And don’t let no body mess with the name that I built
I could've been a punk from [?]
But like I said before, yeah I got too much heart
So don't even try to taunt
If you do punk, man I'm a get the homeboys
[Verse 3: Kid Frost]
I’m a down ass vato but tu sabes
In a fight, the left and the right is like Julio Ceaser Chavez
But the Frost ain't a boxer
I'm just a street kid that's not afraid to sock you
It's not the fact that I'm a tyrant
It's being positive and the negative ain't doing it
You got your own mind so choose you're own route
I'm just letting you know what I'm all about
So don't try to pull a little picture in your head
Try and understand what's going on instead
There's knuckle-heads out in the street and they trip
And when they trip this, they'll get socked in the lip
But once I hit the grill, they chill
It's a damn shame that it's like that still
To this very day in the streets of L.A
Homie, the clown ain't the only one that don't play that
As a matter of fact, there's all kinds of home boys