[Intro: U-God (Cappadonna)]
Got shit, man... yeah... (yeah) What you want me to do?
(Park Hill Projects, in effect
Smackin' ya'll with the mic check
Big Donna Jaybird, from around the way
Straight up and down, check it)

[Cappadonna]
Poppy Wardrobe, Poppy Wardrobe King
Splash a technique, every time I speak is sweet
Do my thing official, be on the block with Blue
Lampin', like a lamp post, playin' my post
Donna begotten, 160 Park Hill, 36 rotten chambers of hell
Yeah, it ain't hard to tell
Acapell' drippin', it's the all time great
Flippin', just to give ya'll the best on tape
Check it, every morning when I wake up for breakfast
I be thinking, what's gonna be my next shit
Pop out the woodworks, gifted with the art
Watch out for Don', let me shoot my dart

[U-God]
Water buffalo rhino, Staten Island, Verrazano
Shake the ground decent like, three sticks of dyno'
Damn, I'm nice, brought it right, fight back with tight grip
Weed burst, the mic scar, ice packs and ice pick
Fraudulent, sword swingers, door ringers
My top style's the Moscow, I'm Stone Finger
Exercise gun lip, message of a wreckage
Fifty shell hot track, leakin' out the Lexus
Eyes hot, Cyclops, cyborg bolders
Cold Shop of Horror lyrics smokin' in my hosters
Whippin' board, lingo 'Tang, hurricane, the holla
Daily operation, bullet train, 'Tang off barber
Eight seconds of horror style, wild buccaneer
Round table revolving, on ten musketeers
Think you, got all the riches, think you, polly with bitches
You can run the fuck up on it, gotten with the kitchens, now
[Cappadonna]
The shit that I be writing, is hype and plus that
The same muthafucka from the Island of Stat'
Got you trapped inside flavor, locked down inside sound
P.R.K. Tical, Masta K, the pronoun
From the lost and found village, it's the rap Jesus Christ
Pinned upon a record, mic nailed inside my right
It's who, I the vessel, chosen, the rap slogan
Walk up out the throne, black royal to be fockin'
For outcome or ever, when words are put together
Dug deep inside your mind, like new Donna did the treasure
The map of Staten Island, X marks the Park Hill
Fuck you with the skill, Donna business before pleasure
N***as out for Donna, then they wig gotta be measure
For guillotine, routine, you heard and never seen
Bloody mass murder, situation unclean
When I blindfold your rhythm, ducktape around the microphone
Wigs are getting pushed back, heads are gettin' flown
Screams and yells, n***as is thirsty for acapells
I meditate, coordination spark you like a jew-el
When I show articulation, you format a rap status
Man show articulation, those who violate the grain
Is gonna meet the amputation, mind state minister
Black Killa Hill Nation, father of Staten Island
Bet the rock, nomination, down before the street
And I ain't got no invitation to a Wu-Tang concert
Killa Bee cookout, all praises due
When I take my rap book out, I'm representing
For all my Staten Island n***as
From RZA Rah, all the way down to minor figures
Stapleton, Now Born, West Brighton, the Harbor
Peace to Method Man and my dunn, Dizzy the Barber