[Intro]
You know what?

[Verse 1: Psycho Les]
People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor
Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter
Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple
We get caught, it's strictly mental
A stone crook, I don't go by the book
You can't fool me with your gangster look
I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay
When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out
And don't try talking bold
'Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall"
What? You punk, who's gonna defend you?
When I bum rush your ass and stick an icepick in you?
Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick
'Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's)
The bed slammer can stick a ho
With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again

[Interlude]
Two, three, break!

[Verse 2: Fashion]
I got so much of this style coming from my lips while
Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles
Bang, I got my own thang, gang, ain't it proper?
Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper (C'mon)
Let 'em fucking know who's the Kool, where I'm coming from
Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em
Bagging 'em, plus I hit they hoes in the mean (Yee-haw)
'Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green
Seen crazy n***as get lost in the shuffle
With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble
Ta-dow, now (Ha), that's how it's falling
Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherfucking balling
Hanging with my crew on the Peekskill plain
I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick
Trick, you know my style, no, it ain't no use
'Cause I can keep your ho wet like a fucking douche (It's like that)
[Interlude]
Two, three, break!

[Verse 3: JuJu & Gab]
Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner
My rhymes will make n***as collapse into a coma
Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission
Deadly with intent to shell the opposition (Yeah)
Fucking with this flow, come on, yo, that's treason
N***as fuck around and get shot for no reason
Junkyard n***a, represent every time
Corona's in the house and, yo, Gab (Off the Richter Scale)
My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war, come forth
I'll floss my fronts with your spinal cord
Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside
Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide
But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault (What?)
'Cause I assault n***as who couldn't launch shit with catapults
So if you ever hear the name Gab One
Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun (Kid)

[Outro: JuJu]
Word up, it's like that, Beatnuts, Triflicts in the house, yeah
Nineteen (Nineteen), gettin' money (Gettin' money)
You know what I'm sayin'? (You know what I'm sayin'?)
Word (Word)