3rd Degree
[Verse One] [Saigon]:
If I c*ck the biscuit, somebody gettin' a doctor visit
Listen to 2Pacalyspse and flip it how 'Pac predicted
A young death but still optimistic
My survival instinct will make me go rob the district
Spit an ox get a grip, rip you from your eyelid to lip with the bitter tip
Your sh*t will drip a lot more than a little bit
Your scar pa?
Uh huh, you will never get rid of it
Not even laser surgery will conceal your disfigurement
Stupid head, my n***as will mark you for dead
Pop lead, watch the hollow head slug particle spread
Sorry savage I'll introduce you to body baggage
Have the new body maggots eat you like crab ?
Y'all rappers is average my status miraculous
From Paris to where ever my dad is
I embarra** the bad
He pathetic, he inherited weak genetics
P alphabetics, fill it to speed at 1,120 feet per second
Makes a part of my fate to scar the Tri-State
Y'all n***as get ate, broke down to a carbohydrate
Saigon, Scram Jones
He violate, I ain't gon' make no damn poem
I'mma break that man bone

[Verse Two] [Nino Bless]:
Look I'm nice when I spit
I don't care if you got hype and you rich
I got the illest MC's rewritin' they sh*t
You and me?
It's like comparing a four star to a deli
Belly to Goodfellas or Hoodfellas to Biggie
B.I.G.'s flow to Diddy's
Or comparin' the 'burbs crime rate to the south side of any city
Or Yayo to 50's
Lil' Wayne's wordplay to Pun's dead-in-the-middle-of-Little-Italy scheme
Lyrically you ain't fit for the game
You ain't sh*t, I mean literally, you a walkin' sh*t stain
Talkin' like you did things
You not the gangsta, you just tell they story like Ving Rhames
And now we ain't the same, you and I sonny
Since I've been on, who took the light from me?
You nice? Get it right dunny
I've been dope since 'Pac was sportin' a Gumby dancin' behind Humpty
So this rap sh*t is light money
I hustle whatever the weather, whether it's night, sunny
I'm here movin' anything that brings dough
You can tell I hustle, I cop everything with singles
And I done been so broke totin' a fifth, locin' for chips
No angle, no hope to get rich
So lay low n***a, watch how you approachin' a spic
I'll clip the halo off the angel watchin' over you b*t*h
You n***as don't want it, don't even try
Get your weight up homie, you under size
Nino Bless, Scram Jones and Sai
Throw Crooked I in the mix and this alliance is sick
[Verse Three] [Scram Jones]:
I'm sick as scarlet fever, spittin' bars with ether
For the none believers, I'mma put it down like some carpet cleaner
In my Nature, gettin' pu**y with my father's features
I'm not a player but get brains like a Harvard teacher
While these rappers are just cartoons like Bart and Lisa
All they do is bubble a little like Orangina
I've been doin' this since Mistadoblina
Way before the beef between Fif' and Don Cartagena
Before the haterade never used to taste the shade
Now dudes will cut you like they play Spades with razorblades
I'm at the airport changing clocks like Flava Flav
Still I love New York more than Tailor Made
Give NY power cause dudes is type coward
So I'mma put a cape on my back like Dwight Howard
Too busy shoppin' the tracks I couldn't take the time out
Watchin' dudes cop more crack than Amy Winehouse
Now I'm in the stoop, cookin' somethin' awful
And I ain't gonna stop till we pop and we all full
So we cuttin' up the pizza make the dough fast
Keep the money in the freezer, all we want is cold cash
The beat peddler in the street sector
Known to speak clever and rip like cheap leather
They say he a movie, more like the director
On the mic I O.D. like Heath Ledger
[Crooked I talking]:
It's your boy Crooked

[Verse Four] [Crooked I]:
Idiot W's up with my thumb cuffed
Must I stick my d**k in a dumb sl*t
Just to illustrate you a dumb f**k?
A young buck
Me and my guns love struck
Get hit with the Magnum like Enter The Dragon nun chucks
Noon chucks, soon as the moon's up
Me and my platoon movin', a**ume that it's boom's up
With the .45's I carry, I bury my adversaries
Like lies buried in the library
See I'm sick as a witchdoctor
Pickin' which Glock to click pop ya
Sick as script written by Hitchc*ck
Or lyrics gettin' spit by Big Poppa
Leave a vic hoffa, stick me, I drip Vodka
Fo' fif' c*cker
I'm a clique shocker/Chaka
Zulu, stickin' my chest out like a chick's knockers
B*t*h, I spit lava
And I rock enough ice to entice a slick robber
But n***a you gets nada
All you get is murdered then dressed in a silly disguise
Since you a clown, it's a fitting demise
Yeah Crooked calls shots man, wigs can goosh
I don't know how fiction looks, just the licks, the jooks
The accountant to fix the books
The foot soldiers to push prescription kush
We just like the system; crooks
So f**k the cops and the warden
I spit for my n***as to make history like when Iverson crossed over Jordan