[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]

Rusty nine getting gully on the roof

This so rough, I left my skully on in the booth

I drag my tin boots through the gutter with the troops

That'll fire at you while you with your mother on the stoop

Ain't nothin' nice, filling five cent cups with ice

Ass crack stuffed with the stuff that the custies like

My flow inspired by po-po riding by

Cause little Jojo let the .44 iron fly

So expect nothing but heat from me, when the beat ugly

I sour dollar spit, ain't nothing sweet money

So whoever say Ortiz hungry is lying

I’m starving, I’m famine, man I act like I never eat sonny

I keep ya head nodding, when the bass pumping

And you can hate cousin, but don’t say something

And no face muggin’, I’m S-H-A-D-Y

Slaughterhouse all day, youngin'

[Hook: Notorious B.I.G.]

Lyrically I’m untouchable, uncrushable

Ask your friends, who’s the illest

[Verse 2: Crooked I]

Yeah, rap is in danger

Crooked I was born in a California manger

God of the West coast, know the flow nice

When you’re signed to Shady/Aftermath and used to be on Death Row

What if my, gun and I, sing you a lullaby

Nullify your skull in 5 seconds by putting a slug inside

Run and hide, I’m on some money goon shit

Married to the streets, honeymoon shit, yeah, fuck a bride

I’m 'bout to go Van Gogh and I have to reach

For slavery guns, that mean I draw a masterpiece

I spit darts quick as a spliff sparks

Writtens’ll kick start, split you in six parts

Which part of "I’m the shit and you a skid mark" did you not get?

Put you in a ditch when it’s pitch dark, make your bitch suck my dick, clark

That's what you get, heard that you a snitch

Now get that tattoo that say life, cause you a bitch

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Joe Budden]

I left the mask home to bury something, no disguise

It couldn't get more official if it was notarized

I won't depend on a jeweler for you to know it's fly

Top of the chain of command if I’m playing my hand, then I'm bettin' on override

Who think they over I? Hoping they vocalize

This ain't even a group, just one real nigga multiplied

This'll end brutally if you tryna get fast

I put my life on it like it was mass

Better pray that this Vicodin last

If not rappers are in danger

Niggas is in a box, I’m tired of rappers in a Wrangler

We'll clap and rearrange ya, but I hate to make my pyschiatrist right

And it’s exactly what she said would happen with my anger

You can’t relate to it, how you gon’ measure it?

Broke, can’t treasure it, jokers just embezzle it

It’s time to separate the realness from the rhetoric

I figure one statement from B.I. should help to settle this...

[Hook]

[Verse 4: Royce da 5'9"]

I said I’m gunning for the motherfucking king

Like the historical terrace shot

I’m sittin’ in a Hilton rich like Paris' pops

Spread money around the whole town like heiress twat

Compare us not, I’m a terrible terrorist plot

You the character Carrot Top, while I’m stomping on barriers 'til my era stops

Like a tricerotops; when I’m done roaming this earth

Bury my bones in Mariah or Keri’s box

Who you know answer with gun? Shady’s our home

We live with the GOAT like Julio from Sanford and Son

We're the problem with a problem, got no love for my foes

Y'all just wearing red bottoms, I got blood on my sole

We are dope, we are postal, we not social

On Twitter we block Oprah and Deepak Chopra!

Y’all niggas think y'all fucking with us cause people quote ya singles

Yeah right, you making your fucking point with broken fingers

My dreams fulfilled like this cup full of potent tequila

That I’m bout to raise up, and toast to dreamers

[Outro: B.I.G.]

Get your writing crew, get your writing crew

And they dopest rhymes, I get up in that ass every time

Lyrically I’m untouchable, uncrushable

Ask your friends, who’s the illest