[Intro: Benny the Butcher]
Yeah, uh
You know what this is, right?
I don't really think y’all n***as ready

[Verse 1: Benny the Butcher]
Yo, I stole a pack, then I sold it back
Uh, we roll in Lacs and got fold up gats with shoulder straps
It's Griselda, bitch, y'all know the stats
I need my safe overflow with racks and a yacht with a speedboat attached
We watched n***as eating, now we getting even
We watched our mothers cry, but that just made us risk our freedom
The .40 blow, you get ripped to pieces, hit and leaking
Have your family in this bitch grieving, hugging pics of Jesus
My shit the deepest, the shit for thinkers, reachers
This shit you simple n***as probably couldn’t grip with tweezers
I took dope charges and I caught state cases
We did stickups when we was kids and bought Playstations
Treat your bitch crib like a truck stop weigh station
Safe haven, if we trade places, that's a vacation
You know the science, my soldiers riot
And the best done got finessed, I threw more curve balls than Nolan Ryan
Growing up, we was so defiant, holding iron
Chest poking out while I smoke the finest, you know you dying
Who cold as I am? You show up with me, you know you buying
Uh, I take one brick and multiply it
The realest shit of life might be the realest shit I write
At the Knicks game, so close, I'm spilling shit on Spike
And I'm killing shit on spite, uh, Glock 19 with the silencer, n***a
And I just twisted it on tight, goodnight, uh
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes & Benny the Butcher]
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah (Yeah)
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah (Goodnight)
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah (Y'all n***as, y'all ain't ready)
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah

[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher]
Listen, dawg, we really came from grave conditions
Ran the trap like offence and I'm Lane Kiffin
Waiting on the lob, from Chris Paul, guess I’m Blake Griffin
The TEC shoot from AK distance, so I can’t miss ya
Yeah, it's me, I make these n***as feel like I’m a problem
Don't like you, we wilding, posted drinking right from the bottle
Rock the Gucci polo with the snake right on the collar
‘Lo top, blue 9s with the white on the bottom
N***as hurt, they in they feelings, they don't like how I'm styling
Got a bitch bad as Rihanna, got her right from the island
I been in prison fights where n***as get sliced and then holler
We broke bread and shared blood just like we Italian, uh
We was Nextelers, now we XXLers
Making deals with label execs, our check mailers
One of the best, that’s a bet, I don't sweat, never
I can read a sucker n***a like a New York bestseller
We jetsetters, street n***as, we just dress better
Eating lamb, ain't no dressing on my salad, just feta
Gun plastic, vest metal, GxF Rebel
And we hitting family members, so y'all know it's next level, pussy
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes & Benny the Butcher]
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah (Goodnight)
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah
Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah