* Jewely, M.K., Penelope, Kujo, Mic Checker, Boogee Mann, Suga Chi,    King Jacob, Iceberg, Foundation, Storm, West Stone, Goobee Thug & Fister      (Intro: Ali)   Check it out, my name is Ali   I roll with them Lunatics   You know us, know what I'm sayin'   But what you might not know   Is we got a lot of MC's in St. Louis   So we gon' do it like this   First up we got my man Jewely!!!      (Jewely)   Now what's a grand finale   If you ain't drinkin' grams in Cali? El Caminos on toners   Hotel Nico with Mona, weed from Pamona   And any ghetto catch this St. Louis nigga on the corner   My persona known to leave rappers in a coma   So faggotts stop the grinnin', them chrome rims reflect   The hate in your face as you see em spinnin'   MC's are screamin', "No mo' shoutouts" through nine innin's   I'm drama, like two baby mommas and one pendin'   This here rapper split up your vest, cause the shit I'm packin' Dawg'll    knock your heart out your chest   Rappers suffer from cardiac arrest   If I'm uncomfortable I dump a few   You niggas are actin' like, I won't send em to the afterlife   This is Judah Zor, a hard act to follow   Murderous clique nigga, known as desperado.      (Ali)   Up next, Hillsdale representative   My nigga M.K.!!!      (M.K.)   You knew what time it was soon as you stepped in the door   Bitches gigglin' and pointin', and whisperin', "There he go!"   Where he go? Me I be loungin' between the ice   Sippin' Don P with a dime piece right!   Whisperin' in my ear about menage a trois   Us and her partners, El Passe panties and bras   Freaky deaky baby I'm lovin' that   Dig the way that you think, them your partners?   Get them a drink, shit one bitch was strippin'   Cause she didn't get picked, but baby   We roll with time, it's only rippin' the six, trick   Minutes later nigga rollin' four deep   Them bitches tonguin' in the back   I'm gettin' some head up in the frontseat   She like, "I got this" you control the cockpit   While her partners in the back sixety-ninin' tradin' cock spit.      (Ali)   Up next, we got that hazel-eyed heartthrob   Miss Fo' Reel, Penelope!!!      (Penelope)   Hot like fire, makin' these niggas yearn   Don't be stressin' me dirty, you got shit to learn   How to keep these seven zeroes that's my only concern   Put a torch to these hoes, make these bitches burn   Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit   Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip   Don't make me put a lump on your lip   A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit   I want it all so give me it   Am I a Luna-chic? Uh huh, I'm a looney bitch   More deadly than the venom that some anacondas spit   The Marilyn Monroe, of the ghetto   I'm a sucker for cornrows, niggas in Timbos hey   (I got old Timbos mama, let me, let me, can I hit that?)   Oh Lord, look nigga (C'mon mama let me hit that)   Get the fuck on out of my face talkin' all that   Old silly ass bullshit.      (Ali)   Up next, Kujo!!!      (Kujo)   Niggas hate me cause I'm nice in the game   And got a style priceless like ice in the chain   Aiyyo so who am I? I'm the best to ever spit   I got that, "Hot Shit" like I'm Nelly and the Tics   I pop a hot block dodge the cops and the dics   Cause they want me gone, been in the game too long   Here's how you want it, you come with guns nigga   We cock two, got work? I comp too   Block one, we pop two   For the love for my family, and my seed   Makin' sure them records live on, from now until infinity   I'm from the 34, live in 3D   Southsiiiiiiide, hot boy like I'm Figi   Spit the truth til I die, give a fuck you niggas sick of me   No matter what the fuck you faggotts do   You can't get rid of me.      (Ali)   Peace, to my cousin Trife, up next   The one and only Mic Checker!!!      (Mic Checker)   St. Louis, what you know bout high-grade we wastin' it?   What you know bout 76 pounds to break down in the basement?   What you know bout chances enough Air Course   Suitcases and pretty pictures out in Lambert Air Port?   What you know bout losin' count cause there's so many stacks?   How many niggas can say shit like this   But there's truth in the tracks?   What you know bout clicked up nigga? Out the country whilin'   How many you niggas done had pussy from the Virgin Islands?   What you know bout your broad beggin' to be my mama?   Lunatics and Skunk dick player up in Trulany   What you know bout mo' bail? We brolic like Brutis   Come for them, everyday and my clique's all exclusive   What you know bout Spanish Town? Amongst the gun clappers   Buff they penis soup head still on my red snapper.      (Ali)   One love to PL-Spin   Naw you know, up next Boogee Mann!!!      (Boogee Mann)   Well Mr. B-double-O-G what? M-A-double-N   I smoke joke and grin, and fuck your best friend   Only if she a ten, then I slide right in   Boogee and DJ Spin, be thunder and lightenin'   Damn that's frightenin, so tuck your vest in   My lyrical Mack-10, spit flows that kill men   It's the Midwest y'all, we aimin' at all y'all   We the ball til we fall or it's nothin' at all   So just warm up the water, cause we Blink like Trotter   Half-baked half slaughter, comin' like Vince Carter   How you want it head or cut? We in the back of the truck   Tryin' to see if baby girl can make me bust this nut   Cause I'm 24 inches above the gun creek   Get these hoes deep, so you pack yo heat.      (Ali)   What up Spud? Up next representin' V.I.P.   King Jacob and Suga Chi!!!      (Suga Chi)   Microphones I burn bitches to whom it may concern with this   Gotta learn this is to all my foes   Them baby mommas swervin' Neons and Geos   Cause they nigros to peep my steelo   In a ??? ready for war, suited and booted   Undisputed dame, been the same, in the game   Since my Tenants had fat laces, smack faces   With Tipsy (Ouch) intoxicated feel it bitch   You gettin' thrown out of clubs ever time you see me.      (King Jacob)   Uugh, everybody want to be street   Guaranteed they bring the most heat   And swear to God ain't nothin' sweet   I agree, but I also feel I ain't got to prove shit   To do it to them punk ass niggas from your click   I fuck hoes that be so thick, when I roll you know this   And them twenty inch chrome rims sit so sick   Motorola shit for communication, this is to aid my flows   Take over the whole nation.      (Ali)   Iceberg!!!      (Iceberg)   It's the nigga the player that keeps it duplicated   Or faded in no type of way, hate it if you like   But you can't stop us gettin' paid   Unless you sabotage the stage, or drop us in a place we stand   And then you have to worry bout your whole state   We made it now the legacy's forever more   Style be forever raw, heaven or hell   I'll stay forever S-T-L   Catch me down down baby, in a black Humvee   Comin' to get my fuckin' corner back for Nelly, (E.I.!)   My fuckin' record sales were barely, (Uh Ohhhhhhhhh!)   Now there's nothin' they can tell me   What I do is always too late, for the Louie   See how you fools respond to these bomb frees   Bigger Big Lee released all these beats   And everytime we do what's fuckin' million ???   And come to answer their question of how come I-C-E-B-G   Gon become part of this Alumni nigga      (Ali)   All the way from the Cle-Town we got my man E   Hella (Louie Town) Foundation!!!      (Foundation)   You never met a four, better with metaphors   Metal for whores, like Tiger's metal four   Shit, that's what I met her for, strictly city   Thick cliques mixed with Big Lee   Can't disturb, stand clap hands dance and swerve   For the spot where nobody else should fix a hand or word   E-Perior bless, since we all wreck mic checks   You guess me on, Midwest be songs, and testin' Jones   F with the best be gone, no quest-ion   School yard parties, fourty-four-four   Seventy West and East, don't get it F in streets   Style shows like sandals, pumps get handled   Dismantled, St. Louis is Tony Soprano   No two, heffers with blow poor, ghetto mo' gurr   Blow bolo get fooled around the clock.      (Ali)   Up next, we got two live MC's   My man Storm and his home' West Stone.      (Storm)   You can't fuck with Storm, six niggas in the truck with Storm   You want to jack him, but you won't got no luck with Storm   My dirty run with dirty niggas and he from St. Lou   Plus he know Kung-Fu, and he got guns too   That big dick dude, that flip kick fools like Tom Cruise   You don't wanna battle me dude you gon' lose   Hit you with one-two's, your lungs bruised   My foot in the butter so many crews call me doo-doo shoes.      (West Stone)   You know Stone is known to break them bones   Meet your chick and take her home   Get one chick and make her moan   And you wonder why these niggas hate the Stone   Broke their backs, when I wrote the raps   Nigga don't drink I'll smoke to that   Niggas hopin' that, I'll take a bow   Want to take my life? Better take it now   I'm still alive let me break it down   Turn this shit to the O.K. Corral   Get to blastin', whippin' asses   Forget that talk shit, I'm with the action   Want to make it hot? I'ma bring the heat   Ain't no nigga that can hang with me.      (Ali)   Up next we got Goobee Thug   The rhyme spitter!!!      (Goobee Thug)   We gon' get two seats recline and lean harder   X, smoke green, and buy the spring water   Y'all niggas polish your jewels to bling harder   I cock the fifth, y'all drop your shit   Type of nigga rob you to cop the whip   Catch me, on 23's with a boxter-twist   See the rocks twinkle twinkle right in front of your eyes   I shine brighter than the sun in the skies   Got a gun on my waist, got one in your eye   And I stays blowin' haze and that Chocolate Thai   Y'all smoke swag weed that's brown with seeds in it   I hustle from first to first through seasons   And you gotta accept this, I ball like the Celtics   A. Walker, shake you up   And I have Ted Foster to make you up.      (Ali)   Up next from the Rawkus Crew   My homeboy Fister!!!      (Fister)   I'm the man before time, move hands before time   Like Don Bluth I made The Land Before Time   Some MC's think they're nice, but not hardly   That's what they "Say Say Say" like Paul McArtney   And Michael Jackson, I cypher the action   To anyone who assists like John Packson   Who these kids think they is tryin' to act all wild   They temporary like members of Destiny's Child   I'm spottin' the top Feds, poppin' the hot lead   All in his pothead, makin' him drop dead   Call me Shanksoon, lyrically snatchin' your soul   Your squad's useless, like the right arm on Bob Dole   Behold, the manifold of a black Aristotle   Roadkillin' MC's, with my hand on the throttle   Smashin' em all, mashin' em all, bashin' em all   Picked up my Friday check cashin' em all