Verse One: Erick Sermon      Whoo! Ah ah, ayahh, ahh ahh ahh   And you don't stop, ahh ahh, word is bond, word is bond   Now introducing the sound from the ghetto   E Double and Too $hort, what the fuck you thought?   I come with the ruckus, It's My Thing when I swing   I'm Born to Mack, always strapped, with the black gat   Who out there I swear boy wanna get touched   Roll up, and catch a slug to the chest, so DUCK   I talk the talk, walk the walk, now nigga   Five hundred S drivin with hand on trigger   Crazy Lestat, check my track record   Everything I touch is gold since eighteen years old   So what that mean? I roll the blunt    and puff the indo smoke in it, I trip in a minute   Crazy holy doctor holdin me cuz I be rockin B   Sewin up like Monopoly, nobody's stoppin me   Dig it, Funkdafied like Brat, how's that?   I stick and move on tracks while I smoke a twenty sack   Who said the E can't rock? That's bullshit   Suck my dick and get a big fat lick of my balls   You wanna brawl? Punk I thought not   You might get beat down and stomped like Sasquatch   Your girl, like Keith Sweat, I wanna fuck her   Psych, I already stuck her   I got rhymes to make your whole head swell up   Here's an icepack homeboy shut the hell up   I rock the mic with Too $hort, y'all niggaz know what's happenin   Everything he touch goes platinum   Eyeeaaaah!      Verse Two: Too $hort      I made a half a million in a week   And every nigga on the street got a tape playin me   You can't believe it? Erick Sermon, rollin with $hort   Rolled from California all the way to New York   In big Benzes, G-50 up   Now we trying to squash all that East/West stuff   We spent years in the studio makin funky tracks   Signed a bunch of niggaz with some tight ass raps   It's like Father Dom, it's like Keith Murray   Makin millionaires but it ain't no hurry   Cuz we all in it for the long run   I won't leave the studio until a song's done   And ain't nuthin really hard about gettin my cash   A big phat house with a million stash   You other niggaz got this rap game distorted   Givin DATs to the label, straight gettin shorted   Claim you're gettin paid, but I can't tell   You keep rappin in my ear got me mad as hell   You talk a good game but I don't believe in you   Be smokin lotta blunts but I got more weed than you   I guess I see you on the charts in the meanwhile   Another face in the crowd plus some freestyle   Wishin you could be in the light   Promoters pay me ten G's just to breathe on the mic   Bitch! $hort Dawg puttin it down with the E Double      Verse Three: Erick Sermon      Shhhhh! You remind me of my phat gold chain   Some of y'all are just small change   Be a boss with true true game   Yeah yeah   Dig this y'all, my Music is Dangerous   Atomic Dog, coming through the smog with $hort Dawg   Ahhh! Quick with the trig Jack be nimble   I shoot like G Mob goes liftin through my window   Chik chik pow! How you like me now?   The man in the mirror it don't get no clearer   $hort Dawg, the E Double, and Breed we roll thick   Like girls in C.A.U. with the good power-U   Owww! Money is the key to fame   So I can live it up with the girls on Soul Train   The impact, major league dough like Dave Justice   Yo Breed, $hort Dawg, show em how we bust this      Verse Four: Too $hort, MC Breed, Kool Ace      Like some true pioneers, don't forget it   Put the money on the table, let's split it   We got enough G's here to make us both happy   Tell them fans we ain't runnin no coke factory   It's $hort Dawg the real pimp of the century   Girls get wet every time somebody mention me   I was known for my mackin back in eighty-four   I want it all, that's what I keep stackin for   Have things that a rapper never dreamed of havin   And I can tell them how to get it just keep rappin   Life's a battle, headed for the new sun   So many ways to get paid, you got ta choose one   Now some of the ways to get paid out is runnin your mouth   That street life will keep me tight, I'm talkin bout   Gettin green, dolla dolla bills y'all   That's on the real, somethin you can feel y'all   Many claim to have game but you can get that on sale   But ain't nuthin they sellin to you but Arbor and Gail   I mean Sprinkle Me homey cuz I'm bout dollars and cents   And if you ain't haulin dollars well you ain't holler   in FlintI'd rather dip dip dive, so-socialize   Get loot from the Great Lakes, West to Eastside   You tramp, trick, HACH I spit   Undergrade if you ain't gettin paid like this   The hours of the ATL paves my name   Spittin Mr. Macker izzer are you still in the game   See I gets paid by the movement of the cut   I've been summoned by the cancer, to testify and bless   It's that, big mack, like scripture is a phat Kodeje?    So hide your hoe from me   Southern am-bassador, knockin at your door   Leadin a click that's true, checkin knowin all fifty-two   See, all you tricks, best behave   It's that Southern nigga mack from the city of the Brave   I got the platinum caul, yes yes y'all   So plant me with the green and them hoes and we can big ball   Yeah, now we rollin four deep   Double dosin, relaxin, and maxin to $hort and these beats   E Double, $hort Dawg, Kool Ace   In the place, and be all but bring you straight horror   Representin money   Buy you some nigga