[Intro: Chocolate Ty]

Yeah... yeah... we about to bring it to yo' ass

Herut... Chop Shop Choc, what?

[Verse 1: Defari]

Yo, what you rhyme about a lot?

Are you that smooth cat Pop? R&B body clot?

Are you that outer space off beat who fuck the beat up?

You know you think you so deep, but you can't keep up

I can't fade it when I hear a lot of bullshit

That's why when I grab the mic, I unload a full clip – of lyrics

Big up to Grams down in Venice

Defari starts this shit, Chocolate Tye will finish

[Verse 2: Chocolate Ty & Defari]

Yo, yo, the lyrical Dennis, The Menace

Fuck up more by the minute

Leave the scene, grinnin'

Defari got you spendin' money lavish

Doin' damage, so many below average

Not from Dallas, but I roll with plenty of Mavericks

See, bad habits leave you empty-handed, stranded

And I can't have it

Wack MCs take this shit for granted, and

And you lose, get bruised when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

Of what this amounts to

Strictly fam, rip the program

Peace to the Ro-gram

I can't let no man withstand the plan in hand

Bonified Likwit fam

In the Barbershop, I get the fresh cuts

So what – ya wanna do?

This the last time I'm warning you

In regards to whom it may concern

I burn crews with loose screws

Choose your weapon, or keep steppin'

'Cause right now, kid, I think you slippin'

[Chorus: Defari & Chocolate Ty]

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

[Verse 3: Defari & Chocolate Ty]

Defari Herut – pure as 24 karats

Blind ****** like ****** when he wrecked the barracks

The rare kid, rare style, uprock flare style

Comparing yourself to us is not fair, child

This underground comp

Is guaranteed to pump

And give crews exactly what they want

No time to front, come flyin'

From the begin, for my neegins

I know kids, weekdays to weekends

Don't front, Quest hit you with the bumps

Nothing change, I'm always watchin' for these shady ass chumps

You wanna face off?

You treble, with the bass off

No Dolby, in other words, you don't even know me

Tryin' to show me different patternings, like my Saturn, and

On the low key, really only out to smoke me

Can't hold me

Wack niggas think they can out-flow me

Shake my hand, then watch they man try to throw me

A beat, when he ain't got no soul

That's why everything I do, I stay close to home

Like 20 inch chrome, Defari splash on the streets, bringin' heat

Surround myself with nothing but my peeps

Like Kings, Queens, and diamond earrings

On a do-or-die angle like a bishop

Turn the fifth up, hiccup

Pass it to Ty for lyrical stick-ups

Get ripped up, keep your lip zipped up

Get tipped up (Tied up)

'Cause all along, you was sized up

Surprised up, now your ride's up

Brains fried up, wake up

Go take a shower, take off that make-up

All this space stuff can't break up this tight unit

Chocolate Tye, Defari – got tight flows like fluid

Through a faucet

Remember, "paid is what the boss gets"

[Chorus: Defari & Chocolate Ty]

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

And you loose, get bruised, when you come through

Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue

[Outro: Defari, (Chocolate Ty)]

(Nigga!) What?!

(And you lose!) Peace to Tha Alkaholiks

(And you lose!) King T

(Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and don't have a clue) Word up, Phil Tha Ag'

(And you lose!) The whole Lootpack

(And you lose!) X To Tha Z, no doubt

(Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, without have a clue)

All the way to the Lowlands, baby

All my niggas – Inglewood... down in Venice... out to Carson

Uh, out to Compton

(Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, you still don't have a clue)

Up to Pacoima, word up

(Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, don't have a clue)