[Intro: Drag-On]

What!

BX, nigga

Y'all don't know?

[Hook: Drag-On]

Ayo, its on – I see y'all niggas didn't learn

You was wrong – thought the fire didn't burn

Yo, it's on – me and Pun ain't from the Bronx?!

You was wrong – nigga, we can get it on

[Verse 1: Drag-On]

Ayyo, guns we toss 'em, and bodies we auction

To his family, we tell 'em he owed us a fortune

"Gimme forty-thou', you can have your child

You don't know what I had to go through to clap this clown"

Check my background, the last nigga to see you bleed

The last nigga to see you breathe

The last nigga you wish you shoulda believed

And Drag move quick, blend right in the wall like a brick

The only thing you see before I blow off ya shit is my wrist

'Cause my hand, the gun is coverin' it, and at this range

When I pump this pistol, it's very rare I miss, it's damn near on your lips

Y'all keep talkin' like y'all Teflon with no weap-ons

"Nigga, I'm pumpin' my Ford, I ain't thumpin' no more!"

Nowadays, niggas run upstairs, open they drawer

My circumstance, you ain't got that chance, mines in my draw

You get it?

That means I walks with two dicks, so don't be stupid

And make me use one, unless you my bitch

[Hook: Big Pun]

Ayo, it's on – you thought I was wack?

You was wrong – album double Plat

Yo, it's on – stop talkin' shit

You was wrong – get off my dick

[Verse 2: Big Pun]

How dare you doubt or deny Big Pun, the undoubtable

The only rapper that'll pull out a gun and slap the shit outta you

You can't tell me nothing, I'll clonk you and stomp out ya belly button

I'm too violent for this rap shit, I should be out somewhere killin' somethin'

Quick to blast, ya'll niggas talk shit and dash

But I really will kick your ass

Juggernaut – I don't care if you a thug or not

I'll get Jamaican on ya ass, rude boy, "what the bomboclaat?"

On your mark, get ready, run – I'm sparkin' everyone

Don't wanna get locked? Stand back and watch, where you from?

How dare you come and try to shit where I eat

Fuck you, nigga, literally – dick in your cheeks

You rich in the street, but I still hate ya'll niggas

Because up North, you be tossin' salads with maple syrup

I know you hate to hear it, but everybody know this one:

"Why you always gotta be right, nigga?

Why can't you ever be wrong?"

[Hook: Fat Joe]

Now it's on – from the Bronx, where it's at!

You was wrong – me and Pun brought it back!

Now it's on – stay on with the gat!

You was wrong – it's the Don, Joey Crack!

[Verse 3: Fat Joe]

Who the fuck want beef with Joe Crack?

Make your body fold back, lift his soul with the chrome MAC

I don't chat on the phone, 'cause the phone tapped

You heard there's money on the block? We control that

I got the work in the pot, where the stove at?

Cook it up 'till it's rock, get my dough back

You niggas so wack, trying to compete

I blind you with heat, I'm the reason crime on the streets

I die for my peeps, keep an open eye when I sleep

Let you slide, when I coulda put five in your Jeep

Who's liver than me? I ain't know you really want it

I'm like Christ, niggas beg for they life when they see me comin'

Ain't nobody gonna stop my shine, you out your mind

Don't make me have to cock my nine, pop ya spine

Never did believe in the Don

Since '92, I've been proving that y'all niggas was wrong

[Hook: Remy Martin]

Ayo, it's on – thought I'd stay on the block?

You was wrong – now I'm Remy on the rock

So it's on – thought I wasn't gonna drop?

You was wrong – I was right all along

[Verse 4: Remy Martin]

I told these niggas that I was the sickest bitch

And every time you spit, I'ma spit some sicker shit

Ridiculous, I reminisce, blaze the track

Type of shit make a nigga wanna play it back

Y'all hatin' that – but I'ma make 'em all believers

Fuck hot, I'ma come and straight drop a fever

Cop a heater, turn around and pop ya leader

And for the followers, I'ma leave their heads hollower

Make your wig twist, as if I was Oliver

Layin' in a hospital, hooked up to monitors

As for the game, y'all lames just can't be first

'Cause I ain't never heard a bitch straight flame a verse

I blame the church, how God let you lie like that?

Who scribed for you? 'Cause you ain't never rhymed like that

So how the fuck you gon' tell me that chick is tight?!

She ain't aight, 'cause she don't write – you wrong

[Outro: Big Pun]

Yeeeah, baby!