[Intro: Rah Digga]
Digga Digga, Young Zee
Brick City, come home with me

[Verse 1: Rah Digga]
Welcome to my Newark life, guess how much you off by?
Thinkin’ shit is peachy ‘cause I let ‘em see my soft side
Haters go and walk by, watch ‘em with a hawk eye
Heat up in the trunk, razor blade in the sports bra
I don’t ever sweat them, let my bitches sex men
I be on the side line reelin’ all the checks in
N***as tryna get ass, ‘cause they know a bitch bad
Gettin’ all these chicks mad, ‘cause they look like shit bags
Clothes fittin’ too tight, lookin’ like a crew of dikes
Guts bulgin’ out, on some cheap shit you would like
Hoe don’t play with me, nothing’s gonna save your team
No comparison, mac bitch, you just Maybelline
Coppin’ new Bentleys, Continental, the white one
My cousin got the Chrysler, ‘cause they look just like ‘em
Got Chloe [?] James Earl, don’t wanna see them things twirl
Violins and shit, tellin’ Mary, “Play them strings, girl”

[Hook: Rah Digga] (x2)
N***as betta tell they boys (Stand down! Stand down!)
Jersey run this mothafucka (Hands down! Hands down!)
All you hear is bullets flyin’ (Man down! Man down!)
I ain’t gotta tell you kids, y’all know the fuck it is
[Verse 2: Young Zee]
Get any, kids you can find or any chicks that can rhyme
From all, different kinds have ‘em get in a line
Men, get crippled and blind and ripped with the nine
Women get, kindly turned around and hit from behind (Turn around)
From all ages, short black dudes to the tall Asians
Down to long Haitians, I spank all the Caucasians
Young, I write songs every day off blunts
You ain’t wrote raps since y’all son was born, he eighteen months
I’m from Bricks, fuck, some movies and popcorn
No R&B, rats just wan’ do it to Pac songs
We bag up Os on the average [?]
It’s right back to the store to bag up some mo’
It’s like I sell crack how n***as tap on my do’
Got guns my cousin brought me back from the wo’ (From the war)
My time is finished, Digga rhymin’ wit’ us
Plus the violiners, go get me six pints of Guinness

[Hook: Rah Digga] (x2)
N***as betta tell they boys (Stand down! Stand down!)
Jersey run this mothafucka (Hands down! Hands down!)
All you hear is bullets flyin’ (Man down! Man down!)
I ain’t gotta tell you kids, y’all know the fuck it is

[Outro: Sativa]
This is Sativa, and you don’t want no problems with my mother and my father