B-Legit:   Bitch I got beam like Scotty   Leave you spotty   When I point this aim at your brain   And leave them hollow thangs in your body   Lodi-dodi I drinks Bacardi   Gets dick hard drunk   When I'm off that skunk punk   And you don't wanna dance tingo tango   I let my left right mingle mangle   To your jaw southpaw   It oughta be a law against these thangs I throw   About to lay some shit down with Celly Cel and Bo   From the Garden Blocc   Hillside got they Glock   Mack 10's   Mobb shit'll neva end   I'm tryin' to have it all   So I ball 'till I'm gold   Mobbin' through a sixty usin' cruise control   C-Bo:   I'm fuckin' wit that click nigga   That big nigga on the block   With Glocks, Rag Tops   Cut thangs on them gold knocks   Better watch your back ''cause we strapped with teks   Push up in a blue Lex'   And dump caps to your neck   Mobb shit   Bustaz all die   Leather trench   Brim and two nines   Costume of a killa   At your bed side holdin' on two millas   Uggh we bust them teks close range   Livin' estranged   Called insane   ''cause when it's on it's on site no matter night or day   And you can't fuck wit these   Get smothered with a half a key   Bitch      Celly Cel:   Give me the ball and I'ma fill the lane like 'Fenney   Hardaway ''cause I'm out to get every penny   Any nigga disrespectin' when I'm checkin' for my scrilla   I know'm stilla wig splittin' killa ain't no realla   Nigga realla than me   Mobbin' through your hood and takin' heads   Slumpin' hangin out the windows dumpin'   And shakin' 'Feds   So mind your own   Cross the line and see how quick they gone   Head blown decapitated caught slippin' in my zone      Fuckin' with this Mobb shit   Niggaz get they wig split      C-Bo:   Uggh it's the murder man posted at the front door   And when they comes I dumps with both four-four's   Letin' 'em have it ''cause I'm static   Dumpin the grass   Killed his ass   And then kneel down and get my last laugh   Punk bitch shouldn't have tripped   Now he lay dead in the ditch   Ass ripped   Suckin' on his own dick   Money talk   Bullshit walk   Fool this ain't no sunshine   Three killas   One garden blocc, two hillside      B-Legit:   This shit's fucked and I am tag teamin' with the murder man   And that'll hurt a man   Niggaz doin' dirt and   All you got to do is hop your ass in my 'Cut   We'll be back tomorrow mornin'   Cell, you comin' or what?   I got this gut feelin'   About to make the killin' for a livin'   The contract said the nigga wore a wire tap   And they want him dead   A hundred G's for his head   And leave a bloody glove down where that body bled      Celly Cel:   Red rum is what I'm hummin' as I hit the fence   Homicide looked for prints but found no evidence   Stuffed his head in the duffel bag and zipped it up   Them ballas want to see his face before they break us off a cut   There it is cashed him like some chips at Reno   Slid us a briefcase full of crispy ass C-Notes   Made the hit   Got the scrilla   Gone without a trace   B behind the wheel   And Bo Loc cuffed to the briefcase   Yo' nigga Cell got the chopper 'case they on my trail   If it's a tail then I'ma leave a 50 empty shells   Pistol smokin'   These niggaz know we ain't no jokin'   Split up the tokens   And I'm back in the hood loccin'      Fuckin' with this Mobb shit   Niggaz get they wig split      B-Legit:   Yeah, like a real hillside strangler, yola slanger, tryin to get a buck but if I'm fucked in the gas chamber.   The autopsy red, them niggaz had some heat fo yo ass.   And never leave your block without your glock, clip and mask.   Haters hatin but its all game related and that's what we do bitch