Goddamn! New York City!   Skyscrapers and everything!      Back in the day, we used to respect y'all, niggas   We used to be down with y'all, niggas   All you have for the West Coast is criticism and disrespect   So I say to you and your city   Y'all niggas will never get our respect again      West Side nigga! Keepin' it real   Keepin' it real      Is Brooklyn in the house? What about Queens in the house?   Manhattan in the house? Long Island in the house?   Is the Bronx in the house? Staten Island in the house?   The West Coast is in the house sayin', "Why you talkin' loud?   What you talkin' about?"      Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C.   Who wants to rock the microphone after me?   Think of who you are and who you be   My energy holds it down like the NFC   I'm going thorough thorough your borough   Wit my Raider jacket and my jerry curl   Gangstas rule the world on the west nevertheless W/S   We got the bomb and you niggas got the stress      You couldn't have said it no better, homeboy   With my automatic toy, I kill and destroy   These bust ass critics from the N.Y.C.   Don't they know that I'lI be from the ING?   My peeps play for keeps deep crews   Pay dues by murder ones and twos   Rip riders and Damus choose   To stay gangsta, you never ever ran us   We bustin' clips like bananas, spottin' colored bandanas      It's just the hoodsta cap peela   Dusty ass New York critic killa   Dumpin' and pumpin' the mothafuckin'   Led in their chest 'cause ain't   None of them niggas ever have it up for the West   So now it's on and the gauge in my pants got me limping   Fuck unity while I'm coast tripping   Sagging as a Bell East smashing tape recorders   This is 187 on a New York reporter      New York, New York   New York, New York   New York, New York   New York, New York      Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C.   Tryin' to get a East hip-hop monopoly   But I've been writin' gangsta shit since '83   When y'all was still scared to use profanity   Now everybody wanna run and go and get triggers   And blaim it on these West Coast 7 figure niggas   Just because we made it real, niggas got the deal   I hope blood ain't got the spill, I kill      It's like the battle of the sexes, you wanna treat us like bitches   Because we're platinum when we flex this   With mic in hand, fans in the stands   We make a mill yan from California to Japan, bitch      Went overseas, seen D's how we done it   88's to 100's to let me know who really run it   This West Coast gangsta shit got it crackin' or we jackin'   Packin' ninas and sellin' out arenas, niggas      You make me wanta holla, throw up both my Dubs   And roll these niggas up, I gotta beat 'em   When I see 'em T-roll 'em, cut off his scrotum   Leave 'em bleeding in particles, for them bias all articles   I'm mashin' and blastin' so get the casket   I bet you after this I get a fuckin' hip hop classic   I'm bannin' you niggas from the scene   Kicking over newstands pourin' gasoline on your magazines      To the West, my niggas, to the West   To the West, my niggas, to the West   To the West, my niggas, to the West   We the best, my niggas, don't stress      Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C.   And your articles tryin' to rate my LP   Fuck your backpacks and your wack ass raps   Sayin' we ain't real because we make snaps   Selling 6-4 with a dab, what you lookin' at   With your Brooklyn hat and your pen and pad   Nigga, I got a pocket full of green bustin' at the seams   Fuck your baggy jeans, fuck your magazines      Hey, hey, hey, what's happenin' round Trey   It's still MT critic K on mines all mothafuckin' day   It'a trip, the script flipped from when you niggas was bossing   Got to flossin', fell off and got the nail in the coffin   Who wanna regret fuckin' with my set   I be a 24 year street West side Connect Vet   You niggas better watch how you greet us when you meet us   We packin' heaters and the only way you beat us is cheat us      Ay no, nigga, fuck that shit, I've got to kill it, kill it   Fuck a New York critic, he write about it   I live it, did it plus I'm still with it putting it down   On all these DJ's hatin' fakin'   And faking never once played my record on their radio station   No love for a New York critic or Disc Jock   Matter of fact, I'm blaming all y'all for fuckin' up hip hop      Is Brooklyn in the house? What about Queens in the house?   Manhattan in the house? Long Island in the house?   Is the Bronx in the house? Staten Island in the house?      The West Coast is in the house sayin'   "Why you talkin' loud?   What you talkin' about?   Why you talkin' loud?"   What you talkin' about?      What you talkin' about?   Why you talkin' loud?      What you talkin' about?   Why you talkin' loud?      What you talkin' about?   Why you talkin' loud?   ...