[Verse 1 - Stage One]   They call me Bad Lieutenant when my eyes are squinted   Child of the 70s and the 80s was in it   Lost the first homeboy in the 9-0 and liable   To get the gun buckin at 5-0, I'm tribal   I'm from a place where the *niggas* are jelly   And pretend to be your friend and put one your belly   And you can keep on yelling, the cops won't come   You want beef, we got burgers and then some   We from the era when we learned on our own   Runnin wild in the streets with both parents at home   Kind of hard to find a young un alone - caused we was crewed up   Taggin on the walls taught wars and getting chewed up      [Verse 2 - St. Paul Slim]   Now I don't know about y'all, but I'm bout to make a small fortune   By taking small things and blowing em out of proportion   Using sarcasm as my second language   Look mom I'm famous, I mean I'm flagrant   You say you write your best rhymes when you high   I say I write my best rhymes cause I'm fly   This is why I'm cold, I'm Minnesota nice   If you want my CD I will give you special price   Haha, take Trummond's advice   St. Paul Slim the best homie, none of its hype   So please lil asshole, keep your mouth closed   'Fore your momma be like "Look at my son, he out cold"      [Verse 3 - Muja Messiah]   You could tell I'm focused by the look in my eye   You could see I'm dirty by how clean my kicks is   You know I tell the truth, I got no reason to lie   Hey, like I tell my chicks "You ain't got a lotta kick it"   All I'm trynna do is get a piece of the pie   And turn these bricks into a legit business   Now run along and go home to your wives   And leave me and Slug here to play with these bitches   You know I spit the sickest sickness since syphilis   Mixed with malaria, fuck it, the more the merrier   B-Boy, D-Boy, yep I'm in your area   Muja Messiah uh huh, hello America      [Verse 4 - YZ]   Yo, yo, y'all wack, yo what the fuck is new?   I'm back wit Atmos and the crew   To do this you need style, I thought you knew   It's not a diss, yo it's just my point of view   Maybe if I turn sideways, y'all *niggas* will   Throw lyrics my way instead of the highway   Now getting ran over by cars and Land Rovers   We starred, you sub par, maybe send your man over   Pardon, you gon' step to this   Spit phat, not anorexic shit   Come stacked boy, it ain't no need to go there   I knock rappers out, y'all scratch and pull hair      [Verse 5 - Brother Ali]   I hustle hard for the love of god   My life has been the biggest struggle for the bloody start   I knuckle up and throw the hands of my thug at heart   So when the shit hit the fan I don't come apart, I breathe and shrug it off   Atmosphere - the Big Brother's big brothers   Catch is here to turn king to wrist cutters   Just trust it ain't no regular shit   That's a polite asshole and a sensitive pimp   You would think it was a party, not a Cadillac   Church mosque, have a knack   Dr. Dre Training Day rappers don't know how to act   Remove em all from my sight like a cataract   Poof! It's a magic act      [Verse 6 - Toki Wright]   Walk over beats like DMC, three stripes   Leaver be three strikes, visa need three swipes   DVDs, jeans clean, cuts brush dandruff   Mobile phones, suited loan, courted blown pampers   Chilling at the party in B-Boy stance   And they looking at me funny, why? Cause they can't dance   So I'm cutting up and shutting up, I'm buttercup but just enough   To lean on top of this metropolis with binoculars   Walk like a pimp, think like a Macintosh   Battle scars, also trynna figure out your avatar   Leave the cameras on, told ya partner that he can't perform   Brought a torch to burn the building, he think I'ma hand it to him      [Verse 7 - Blueprint]   Yeah, yeah, I solemnly swear   To fight the good fight as long as I'm here   But sometimes the good fight don't seem fair   Cause all the best soldiers we had ain't here   They gone now, we all on our own now   And most of those left ain't got no style   You give em an inch they try to take a whole mile   Too overconfident to keep a low profile   Pump your brakes, stay in your lane   A bunch of fakes chasing fame   I'll punch your face and take your chain   Sit your 5 dollar ass down before I make change      [Verse 8 - Slug]   Break these chips down, count your business   Ain't nothing free, it's a James Brown Christmas   So god bless the underground now and give it   To the sound of the drums while none of us outlive it   I treat Hip Hop like a sport   Stay on my game, put my time on the court   While you complain and get high some more   Might explain why your team can't find support   Now catch me in the back wit a whisky   Chattin up a missy like I'm attractive and witty   I have to dip to do my raps and get busy   Why don't you come see me when I'm back in your city?