[Verse]
Right place, right time, close call, what does it matter? (Hey)
Clean get away, keepin' my dirty pockets fatter (Cha-ching)
Smooth operation, plans well thought out (Boom)
Hands in the air is what I'm talkin' about (Come on)
No doubt call me a warrior, I'm runnin' with a hatchet
The one crazy native representin' Psychopathic
Down for the D because the D is where I struggle
Underground, wicked shit, MOTHAFACKO!

[Chorus]
Do you want that native shit?! (Yes, we want that native shit!)
Do you want that crazy shit? (Yes, we want that crazy shit!)
Do you want that wicked shit? (Yes, we want that wicked shit!)
Do you run with a hatchet? (Yes, we run with a hatchet!)
Do you want that native shit?! (Yes, we want that native shit!)
Do you want that crazy shit? (Yes, we want that crazy shit!)
Do you want that wicked shit? (Yes, we want that wicked shit!)
Do you run with a hatchet? (Yes, we run with a hatchet!)

[Outro]
"Twenty thousand hardcore members, forty thousand county affiliates, and twenty thousand more not organized but ready to fight, sixty thousand soldiers. Now there ain't but twenty thousand police in the whole town, can you dig it? Can you dig it? Can you dig it?"