[Produced by Just Blaze]

[Intro: Cam'ron & Major Harris sample]

"Oh, oh... oh Major, don't go!"

Young Guru, Just Blaze, Killa

Diplomats, huh

Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Freekey Zekey

Hoffa, Dash, uhh

Killa, uh

[Verse 1: Cam'ron]

Y'all niggas dreamed it, I've seen it

Body warm, heart anemic (I really mean it)

Coke, a nigga steamed it; fiends, I leaned 'em

Beamer, leaned it (I really mean it)

Guns, really beaming; rarely miss, what's really good?

Bikes, wheelie, and creaming (I really mean it)

I'm a–genius, Papadopoulos, never lenient

On your Zenith (I really mean it), Killa

Bag me more mutts, they actually all ducks

Caddy more trucks, it's Daddy Warbucks

And you Orphan Annie, ma, take off your panties

Seat soft and sandy (I really mean it)

Yeah, let's get lost in candy

I got lofts in Boston, Austin, flossing, of course, Miami

Reno, Nevada, sip piña colada

Mama, I've seen all the Prada (I really mean it)

I rock–Mauri, Fennix

The road to glory's scenic, you seen it? (I really mean it)

The game abuse it, it's pain in music

But this year, wrist wear remains the bluest

I get lame and lose it; beef? Came to do it

Aim and shoot it; flames turn your brains to fluid

Y'all just kids, see what I just did?

Take a couple bars off, let Just live

[Interlude: Jim Jones]

Yeah, now that's powerful music, man

You need to pop something and roll something (I really mean it)

Killa, we did it, man, I got your back forever

Dipset (I really mean it)

And them lames, we pop them sideways and drag them faggots

(I really mean it)

[Verse 2: Cam'ron]

Okay, we back in – mami, listen (I really mean it)

Ayo, lock my garage, rock my massage

Fuck it, bucket by OshKosh B'Gosh

Golly, I'm gully, look at his galoshes

Gucci, gold, platinum plaque collages

From collabos, ghostwriting for assholes

Wanna use my brain, they give Killa mad dough

It's all good, increase Killa cash flow

Increase my fame, that's why Killa smash hoes

You'll get side-swiped, look at my life

First movie ever, murked out Mekhi Phife'

And Papi got jerked out of pies twice

Dipset, we working with five dice

Cee-lo and craps, C-notes and stacks

I send bodies with "Read this note" attached

"Ya young'n fucked with boys in the hood"

Gave her a son like Ricky from Boyz N The Hood

On the couch, bloody, old lady sighing

Wifey screaming (I really mean it)

Pissy little baby crying – fucked up, man

Shit, there you seen it (I really mean it)

Fam, man, you terry cloth, that mean you very soft

Gravy Mercedes, add the cranberry sauce

Killa

[Outro: Jim Jones]

Yeah, gangstas ride, man

Flex, we got you, guns up (I really mean it)

And all my ladies, man, the ghetto's saditty

I need you, I want you (I really mean it)

Oh, pop something, roll something

Get twisted, that's on Jim, nigga (I really mean it)

Harlem! Man, we here to stay

It's nothing left to say, man (I really mean it)

Eastside, and as for that lame man, Nasir

I ain't even gon' say your last name, 'cause that's mine

I catch you, you know what it is, you faggot!

I ain't gon' get too hype on you, man, we gon' bury ya

Holla! See if you 'bout it, 'bout it

'Cause we is (I really mean it)

NYC!