[Verse 1: Twe3zy]

Here we go, on this hot ass shit

Speakers bump and spit like clips

Talk that shit, put in a crypt

Fuck you and fuck your script

Load the mag, hollow tips

You're laid out, tagged toe tip

Chapped ass lips, call up Kip

Make your skull drip, you hit bricks

Call you young Zeroni, now starting digging up your hole

Run the shit under pepperoni, or you'll get the pole

Whip a Zamboni, chase you down and take your soul

Talk any shit, brain gets unrolled

Rapping like I'm mainstream, but that shit is cold

Talking about that hot, but you don't act as bold

Who do you think you are? I buy your life, already sold

Rip out your grill. Can't melt it down, fake ass gold

[Chorus: Twe3zy]

You know that we got it. Got that fire, got that chronic

No satire, not a sonnet. You a bitch, put on your bonnet

You know that we got it. Got that fire, got that chronic

No satire, not a sonnet. You a bitch, put on your bonnet

[Verse 2: SmokeEZ]

Put on any competition , I'm really hopin' that he got it in him

Challenge me, yeah he probably trippin'

Either that or he Bicardi sippin', but it's too late for kiddin'

Don't let your mans gas you, think you good at rappin'

Cause we gon' play you, yeah, yeah

Diss and defeat, rinse, repeat, and god can't save you

Yeah, keep my name out your mouth, I'll make you look silly

I had no competition, ain't nobody rappin' with me

It is what it is, I don't care about your feelings

Look, can't fuck with none of that fake shit

Y'all never get my respect

And her friend request stay in the friend requests

Until she tryna throw me that neck, bitch

[Chorus: Twe3zy]

You know that we got it. Got that fire, got that chronic

No satire, not a sonnet. You a bitch, put on your bonnet

You know that we got it. Got that fire, got that chronic

No satire, not a sonnet. You a bitch, put on your bonnet

[Hook: SmokeEZ]

Best of the best in the big leagues

Ain't shit you could ever say to offend me

Ninety other rappers in the city

But rest assured, ain't nobody fuckin' with me

[Verse 3: Twe3zy]

Gotta bag and now I'm on the mat

Wrap your body with rags when the dirt getting stacked

Now that bitch dead for the winter

Chip off the old block, and now you are just a splinter

Death said come hither. but I didn't listen, I just dissed em

Send your shots, you gonna miss em

I'm on a mission for the top position

[Verse 4: SmokeEZ]

Fuck that talkin' shit, 40 in this bitch

Shoot it from the hip, bet he do not miss

Funny thing about it, ain't even sneak it in

Homie got it with him, better watch your lips

Do not give a fuck 'bout who you runnin' with

If he talking crazy, he can meet the 5th

If he outta pocket, we gon' pocket check him

Pocket all his shit and throw him in a ditch