[Intro]
*Taped recording of phone call between Benzino and Paul Rosenberg*

[Verse 1: Benzino]
Lord help us, my peoples bein' raped (uh)
Deliver me from evil and I'll seal this devil's fate
Let's take a closer look at what's really happenin'
He wants you to believe that it was all about rappin'
And all I try to do is open up my n***as eyes
It wasn't about me and Em, you gotta realise
It's just a smokescreen, my n***as there's a bigger picture
I want the streets to pay attention cause I'm ridin' with ya
If credibility is what we here for
Then why ain't the hood sellin' units no more (tell me why),
Labels actin' like it's good so they say so
EPMD was always gold with no radio
Now it's time to turn the prophecy, time's up
Marshall Mathers gotta die, rise up
No choice, the only way we gonna turn this shit around is put this little bitch in the ground
And the so called kings, steady goin' at each other
Do songs with the devil, while they fightin' with they brothers (Sellouts)
It's fuckin' pitiful, we always in some drama
Let 'em slide through then they divide, conquer
And every plantation got a bunch a house n***as (D12)
Shady Records just a bunch of house n***as (Obie Trice),
Extra security in your front lobby
Better call the secret service, if you gonna stop me (blaah)
Paul Rosenberg, you fat fuckin' pig (Uh)
I'm holding you responsible for what this bitch did (kill ya)
Cause you call me up, tryna cop a plea
As far as I'm concerned you both gon' bleed (bitch)
Talkin' bout he wanna fight, please
Let's set that shit up quick so I can drop him to his knees
You let a clown clown you, how insane is that
You let em tongue kiss your wife when you had a gat
How you gonna have a gun with no bullets
Oh don't worry cause when I see you I'm gon' pull it (blaah)
You dyed ya hair blond, I'ma make it red
How you gonna sell records Marshall when you dead?
Motherfuck make you pay for that bullshit you talkin'
I'm goin' hard in the streets of New York and
Just ask Chuck how we ran 'em outta Boston
He should have been killed left in the coffin
And you better keep my kids out ya fuckin' mouth
Before I put a Glock in yo' motherfuckin' mouth
Tell Hailie it ain't safe no more (nah)
Daddy better watch your back at the candy store
You fucked up
Resort to plan B, fuck around, she end up like JonBenét Ramsey (that's right)
Matter of fact you better check the DNA (what)
She probably ain't yours and where's your wife Kim anyway?
She's on her knees somewhere suckin' 50 Cent
I know you wishin' you were there 'cause you on his dick
You dress in drag, you huggin' up on Elton John
You closet fag, I'm a king you a little pawn
You the rap David Duke, the rap Hitler
The culture stealer, n***as ain't with ya
I'm the rap Huey, the rap Malcolm, the rap Martin
Don't worry I'm a finish what we started
And everybody who wanna scream Pac's name
You don't make a difference, you in it for the fame
Cause if Pac was livin', he would shoot this bitch alive
But I'm a do it for him, then the hood might survive
You sleep with five-o, you walk with the feds
Better keep the lights on, when they tuck you into bed
Cause I'm a get yo' silly ass, find out where you lay
When Debbie set you up you gon' die another day