Verse 1: (Boobonic)      First of all I'm a T-H-U-G   Boobonic nigga, who the fuck you be?   If you don't really want this block then move over   so you don't get big weight and lose it like Oprah   caught a case down South in V.A. court   the game change every year like EA Sport    you see now they got platinum, mad you got gold?   my corner's like the Beatles nigga, get your rock and roll    niggas mad 'cause the Feds stay on me 'cause they in cars    mad 'cause I oversee the Projects like A&R's    try not to do hits myself, I order that    while you cooked Four and a half and got a quarter back    you play the tough guy role good, I ought to clap   and did alot of rappin' too, I should've bought a track    I had to check this comb in your rug, checkin' for soil    got popped while you was under your hood checkin' your oil.       Verse 2: (The Clipse)      I graduated from Eight balls to blow thats cake size   match me grand for grand and lets make these stakes rise    mahavaji rich, in Egypt with eight wives    while my fam rocks links and medallions thats plate size    you up against The Clipse, believe theres no chance   what you feel about hollows piercin' through your throat glands?   see, I sweet talk the Devil, take him on a slow dance    while your hardcore posse's is extras and road hands   get your Fifty deep, us rollin' in Convoys   you fuckin' with grown Men and y'all is young boys   love double action, pack anything with loud noise   as we kidnap your partners and use 'em as decoys.       Chorus -   If y'all ain't got guns (I don't represent you)   if you ain't got coke (I don't represent you)   if you ain't got dough (I don't represent you)   fuck ya clique and that bullshit you been through   (repeat)      Verse 3: (Mr. Mr.)      I never hold back, I cock back and twist ya   I never been shot mothafucka, it's Mista   I scream who's coke? who's whip is that?   I want the main coke source, not just the crack   I want the one who cook it up and make you push the pack   you don't like that we cut at you nigga? bust back   I never been the one to talk and chill shit out   I shoot 'till it jam and the clip don't spit out    you heard I'm 'bout to run in your house? you better get out    Mista take stacks and coke and sort shit out    whoever don't like it wanna come then come    and you smart mouth niggas get popped with dum-dums.       Verse 4: (The Clipse)      Who the fuck wanna see us?   chrome double barrel heaters   mothafuckas better bow when they greet us    red green and black strapped on Gucci wife beaters    with platinum paint jobs on 3.8 liters   two ways to live, cocaine or showbiz    knee deep in crime rhyme, in coke? my shoulders   what you know about hidin' your bricks in Folgers?   with Grandmothers and Aunts as primary holders   whassup lover? tell 'em take aim or take cover   'cause we poppin' cross hand and christen your little Brother    eagle eye block strutters composed of Baby Mothers    how they ???? we seen double.       Chorus 2x