Released on May 16, 2006

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[Intro: Cam'ron]

Dipset, Killa, streets what it is


[Verse 1: Cam'ron]

I done stopped and styled Hummers, rock for wild summers

The nerve in me, these courtesy of Crocodile Hunter, that's right

That mean they croke-adile, see y'all niggas chokin now

You know my style, you know I style, get money poster-child

Crib, piece, I swear you should come over child

Garage, Benz, Lamborghini, Rover fouls

Red, blue, green like the average frog

Don't be mad at dog, Ferrari out the catalogue

Bracelet switched to bangles, medallion, shit just dangle

Chain twist and tangle, you'll get ripped and mangled

Hit from angles, I told you we equipped with angels

Can't find you, your girl, tape her wrists and ankles

Show her the click clicker, better yet six figures

Ask her, "Where that nigga, bitch? He a bitch nigga"

The big picture, get figures, my kicks glitter

Get with us, in the basement longer than Big Tigger


[Chorus: Cam'ron]

Triple up, trey eight, four nickel tucked

Get some weight on your ass, give them nickels up

This is for my fly ice niggas

Kilo breast, chicken wing, fried rice niggas

Quadruple up, triple five on me you stupid fuck

Take your ass up the block doggy the stoop is us

This is for my Benjamin bitches

You don't need 'em, get money credit scam bitches


[Verse 2: Cam'ron]

Killa, uh

Ayo, your clique is soft, my wrist is frost

I just pick a Porsche, guns we strap 'em on then we lick 'em off

(Pap, pap, pap, pap)

Got a sickenin' loft, you know how much the kitchen cost

You bitchin' boss, get 'em crossed, best bet don't piss me off

Listen horse, a lot of niggas I did endorse

Of course makes me nauseous when they call the force

Only force I call is the Holocaust

Holla scholar, bodies drop when the dollars tossed (35 hundred)

Hot stove, jelly jar, bakin' soda

Hot water, mask, gloves, can't take the odor

But I make the quota, hate cats that fakin' older

"Remember back in the days", man them days is over

Know it might seem I'm sellin' y'all a pipe dream

Wolf tickets, nope, been a legend since 19

And that was in the late 1990's

You late, homeboy I kept them 19's shiny, Killa, easy


[Chorus: Cam'ron]

Triple up, trey eight, four nickel tucked

Get some weight on your ass, give them nickels up

This is for my fly ice niggas

Kilo breast, chicken wing, fried rice niggas

Quadruple up, triple five on me you stupid fuck

Take your ass up the block doggy the stoop is us

This is for my Benjamin bitches

You don't need 'em, get money credit scam bitches


[Verse 3: 40 Cal.]

I came a long way from gettin' hanged by a white jury

Look at my neck, all you see hang white jewelry

I triple the chain, triple the wrist

Dice game the same night, I throw triples and split

I get ménage à trois, that's triple the chicks

Got 'em on a triple beam, takin' trips with the bricks

My clique, the weight watchers, we wait for niggas with watches

Or watch niggas with weight with cake in they wallet

Rapin' they pockets and takin' they projects

If you flip like T-Mobile I could make you a sidekick

Shit you see a profit one day off of my flip

You gotta go triple, just say that it's my shit

But for now get ya hustle up

How you talk about triple when you still trying to double up

This the bubble music, hoes with the bubble butt

Bubble coke, and they bubble coke to cop that bubble truck


[Chorus: Cam'ron]

Triple up, trey eight, four nickel tucked

Get some weight on your ass, give them nickels up

This is for my fly ice niggas

Kilo breast, chicken wing, fried rice niggas

Quadruple up, triple five on me you stupid fuck

Take your ass up the block doggy the stoop is us

This is for my Benjamin bitches

You don't need 'em, get money credit scam bitches