[Verse 3: Masta Ace]
I make more G's than gang fights when I bang right
Plus I'm sharp like fang bites and I hang tight
With my niggie's from the B-side, and we slide
Ten deep, in two Beamers and one Jeep
Fool don't sleep, I keep rollin' with the I-
NC, them chinsy n***as gunna die
I don't have to squeeze on my enemies
I just drop these lyrics on emcees
I bring drama like soap operas
So stop the, madness ya gunna feel sadness
When I drop the, realism that's more live than freak nick
As I speak with, rhymes the beat kick
I'm no joke when I blow smoke, you're so broke
You're starvin', I'm leavin' n***as messy like Marvin
You won't find no piece of mind here
I'm on edge somebody help me chyeah
Like emcee acho, I caught yo
Ass lookin' prepare to get yo ghetto blast tookin'
There's mad fake crews in the streets, creeps
And n***as be changin' like funky sheets
That's the thing about the I.N.C
There will be, no similarity
The other crews in the industry
We go on and on and yo
This is how we came, this ain't no muthafuckin' game