19 nigga 7, bitch what's happenin?   Chorus:   Thirteen muthafuckin years!   I know what to do to knock your stupid ass out   bastard you ain't no challenge.   Thirteen muthafuckin years!   This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.   Thirteen muthafuckin years!   I know what to do to knock your stupid ass out   bastard you ain't no challenge.   Thirteen muthafuckin years!   [Verse 1]   Ahhh Beware, of the microphone I'm holding   I'll keep rappin until I hoarse or swollen   Thirteen years and rollin   Bringin the coldest to the CONUS   Gettin part of this, niggas don't want no more of this   Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selectin and sellin rhymes   Slap a nigga in his mouth thinkin his style sound some like mine   Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"   (This line whispered, can't hear)   You be pissin me off some the time, take you down one at a time   I'ma be known for fuckin over your whole album   Who want my rhyme?   Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing   Keep duckin, I'ma keep findin   Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me   Disrespect is costly, stir that muthafucka like coffee, Hard to break, if it comes that way   It took me thirteen muthafuckin years just to make a demo tape   But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest   All man I been trying to make it for the fuckin longest   Fuck the signing bonus, long as you done it   When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch   Takin them riders down with me, clown with me   Leave thirteen in your muthafuckin chest and you can count em   Chorus   [Verse 2]   Nigga go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year   Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets   Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets   Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches   Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress   Droppin like the temperature in December   Shimber me timbers, I been writin raps as far back as I can remember   Fulla them rocks, everybody move key   It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs   Handle your buisness in this industry of competition   Or be at F.W. Wolworth washin dishes   Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes   Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85   86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape   We dropped some real shit in the basement   I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement   To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface   That's when I got discouraged and joined the service   Pissed off! and I before long   I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home   No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream   Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen   Chorus   [Verse 3]   I hit the bitch like BOOM! Owwwwww!   Never gon bounce throw in the towel before I foul   How in the fuck you like me right now   Told your ass this year I'd be on top of the pile   Cause my rap style is my hustle   I shot niggas up like Muslims   We flex like muscles   Use a, pretty delievery cause it's most important   I form a style that cut straight thru the frozen artic, I came from my welps, gave up my belt   I got off from Big Boy records to put my single on the shelf, now   Do I do it? Fuckin right I did it   Shoulda seen the little chir'en in the street singin I'm Not That Nigga   Size ain't nothin nigga, I'm short   Shockin nigga, raah!   They gave me five hundred dollars, shit I quit both of my jobs   Fuck em, got some other shit to do from nine to five   My birthday came, and my sister died   But next year, Mystikal signed a half a million dollar deal with Jive   This shit thats tragic can't be no more   Because of my rings I work at A&P no more   I drive my landcruiser off the show floor   Got the Bondaville paid sittin on Momo's   Comin with scheme, up in my dream   Who'd a ever thought I'd be a No Limit soldier   by the end of that thirteen   Thirteen mammy muthfuckin years!