[Intro]

Yo, son, tell 'em about that bullshit they put you through

[Verse 1: Big Noyd]

Yo, son, word is bond, dunn

Sometimes, I wish I had three different faces

I'm goin' to court for three cases in three places

One in Queens, Manhattan, one in Brooklyn

The way things is lookin', I'ma see central bookings

Facin' three 3-to-9's is mad time

After ran concurrent for assault and 2-9's

I gotta maintain, 'cause stress on the brain

Can lead to a motherfuckin' suicide thang

And plus my probation, a ill violation

How the fuck did I get in this tight situation?

I'm goin' all out, you know? Moves I never fake

And fuck the jake! They can catch me at my wake

And if I die, burn a bag of blade

Put the lye in the air, sometimes I just don't care

[Verse 2: Prodigy]

Son, I got plans, power movements, get on some rude shit

I keep livin' like this, I might lose it

My man's comin' home from doin' long-ass bids

What up, Kiko? I ain't seen your ass since we was kids

It's all strange; my niggas locked down thinkin' long range

And see their names in the Daily News, third page

They sent a kite to my nigga Killa

It only took one sword to put seven holes in his squealer

A 3-to-9 spendin' most of his time inside the bing

Reclined, and still came home with his shine