What, Silky Don Entertainment
That nigga Strick, Royce the 5'9''
Rock-A-Block all day, what yo yo yo
I'm the type to show up to the studio
Write that shit, spit it, hit it, leave ya'll askin "Who dat?"
I'm the next nigga to boom, I assumed ya'll already knew that
Hip hop's hottest new cat, lay your crew flat
Have your label faxin my label askin "Why ya'll have to do that?"
It's a true fact, when you rap, the crowd boo that
And more than a few cats agree you shouldn't even do rap
What you recorded, screw that, buy a new DAT
Your girl's a true rat, so when I fucked her I wore two hats
So move back you little newjack
'Fore you fuck around and do some shit that get not only you
But your whole crew whacked
Too strong and I'm too black
And pack not one but two gats
And I'ma aim em at you black, true dat
The veteran that'll never retire
Devilish, judge the red in my eye
Judge the nine instead of my size
Ahead of my time, the second coming of a legend in rhymes
That'll shine whenever I die
We never lie, you'll never get by
I just got love, I used to roll wit big shot thugs to hip hop clubs
You act up, the fifth got hugged and blasted
Pits got dugged and filled back up wit stiffs wrapped up in plastic
Give me a heater, you givin' me a reason to shoot
You givin' me the key to your coupe
Midwest, not the middle, Strick clutchin' the five
Wavin' the tec out the window, clip touchin' the tire
Shit is over
Shit is over, shit is over
The shit is over, the shit is over
'Cause ain't nobody fuckin' wit us
Ain't nobody fuckin' wit us
Shit is ove'
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