[Intro: Juelz Santana]
DipSet, ugh
Weezy, holla at me

[False Start: Juelz Santana, DJ Drama, & DJ drops]
Welcome to the concrete jungle
Got snakes, got bears, got lions, no muzzles (No muzzles)
And they all tryin to cause me trouble
Got the big trey-8, long nose, no muzzle (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
Hold up, hold up!

[Spoken: Juelz Santana & DJ drops]
Ayy, ayy! Hold up, Drama, where you get that shit from, n***a? Man, that's exclusive! Run that the fuck back! Ayy!
The Aphilliates, n***a, pay attention!

[Intro: Juelz Santana & DJ Drama]
DipSet, ugh
Weezy, holla at me (You know how we do!)
Ayy, ayy

[Verse 1: Juelz Santana, DJ Drama, DJ drops, & Lil Wayne]
Welcome to the concrete jungle
Got snakes, got bears, got lions, no muzzles (No muzzles)
And they all tryna cause me trouble
Got the big trey-eight, long nose, no muzzle (Gangsta Gri-Zillz! Ill!)
Back up off me, shorty—if not? Surely—
That piece'll come off me shortly (Shortly)
My hood breed gangstas, boy
You wanna be down? Let's see now; no, thank you, boy (Nope)
My n***as'll fish-filet you, boy
Then go and tell your moms to get the paper, boy (Yup)
Your son is no longer just a paperboy
He's front-page on the paper, boy, read about him (Look)
Extra, extra, read about it! (Look)
While we get twisted, laugh, and smoke weed about it (Look)
And can't nobody do a thing about it
'Cause they'll be in the same boat—literally, the same boat (Yup, yup)
Floating 'cross the same sea (Yup)
Through the same water (Yup); don't fuck with them same G's (Yup)
Don't fuck wit that man, please (Yup, yeah, yeah)
Don't fuck wit his money, don't fuck with his gangrene (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
[Verse 2: Lil Wayne & DJ drops]
Aim, squeeze: Wayne be on the backstreets
Shotty on the backseat—"Fuck 'em," if you ask me
Make 'em look, but them n***as can't look past me
Pass the weed to the next n***a—that's me
Let's see: B-E-N-Z, A-M-G
Twenty-one inches, and I got them bitches skin-deep
Tempt me and anything can happen—I ain't rapping
I ain't shootin' at your soldiers, bitch; I'm going for the captain
I ain't shooting at your shoulders, bitch; I'm going for your cap
And I won't stop cappin' 'til your wings start flappin'
And you, you just an angel in the streets full of gangstas
And me, I'm from the home where murder make you famous
And I think I'm 'bout to get that trench off the hanger
And the mask out the drawer, but I never hide the banger, I'm a—
Straight player; if you love her, don't bring her
I'll tell her a lil' shit, like, I can make her ass a singer
And she believe that—we back at the crib
She like, "How it shoot if it's plastic, for real?"
I'm like, "Fall back, ma—your ass need to chill"
Then she rolled on my dick like an ecstasy pill, haha
I smoke Beverly Hills, whatever—that kill
That leave a n***a with that heavenly feel, yeah
Step, and I will step in your grill, yeah
Leave a n***a with that heavenly feel, yeah (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)