[Intro: Fabolous, DJ Clue & DJ OnPoint]
Oh my god (new shit)
Yeah, oh my god, yeah (Fabolous)
Uh, oh my god (Paul Cain, Joe Budden, A-Team)
[?], oh my god (Stack Bundles)
Real talk n***a, oh my god (Desert Storm)
[?] shit, oh my god (DJ OnPoint, Joe Budden)
[?] (let's go, DJ OnPoint)

[Verse 1: Fabolous]
They call me F-A-Beezy (Uh), sometimes Stizzo (Uh)
The wrist on freezy (Uh), neck on glizzo (Yeah)
The coupe move easy (Yeah) at two-double-izzo (Woo)
Truck look cheezy [?] (Clue)
And it's jacked up like it sit on stilettos
Can't you see the glit' on the pebble that sit on the bezel
None of you little scraps couldn't get on my level
Take more than a hot song to try to sit on the devil
Got respect when I killed "Money, Power" the first time
When they tried to knock down the towers the first time
And the only reason I'm talking 'bout it
Is so you know the real talk of New York's about it
I'm with a bitch, with a tight ass that shakes
Her suck game will one gulp: White Castle shakes
Got the home right past the lake
When I came they stop us, this time might blast the jake
I'm the n***a on the couches in clubs
And I stand out from the rest of the slouchers and scrubs
Bottles and bottles with a train of pretty hoes
That look like they could be amazing videos
We in the caps with the Yankee logos
Blowing on the stanky dro dro, the pinky snow-globe
And you know the link be so "oh"
N***as look fast but the blinks be slow-mo
I could spot a kinky ho though
All hood bitch, she just tryna make you think she SoHo
Plus I know the game like the back of my hand
When I'm lazy, you can catch me in the back of sedans
When I'm gone, you can bet I'm coming back with a tan
With the Mickey D signs on the back of my pants
And I act like the man, 'cause this my time
Plus the hood say they miss my dimes, it's young money
[Ad-Libs: DJ Clue]
Yeah, DJ Clue
Desert Storm (is this what you want, man?)
Y'all can't fuck with my wolves, man, for real (huh?)
Come on y'all, yeah (is this what you want?)

[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
Now n***as say they in the hood like Mister Softee
They in the hood getting treated like Mister Softie
“I clap the four-fifth”, if you believe that
Then you believe Rick James died of natural causes
I'm twisting up trees-chronic to switching up ebonics
Started in the fifth grade, switching up etonics
Know a few dudes that'll spit at your dome
So go see 'em if you really want invisible stones
Try and get at me to hit him
Just type forty acres and a mule in your navi system
My hood—they kidnapping your kids
See, we try and Tom Cruise and Jamie what collateral is
Whack dudes in the game is a problem
But they like Maurice Malone jeans, their name will stay on the bottom
Murdering that? Nah, heard him, he's sub-par
Coyote Ugly rappers, keep working at your bars

[Ad-Libs: [?] & Paul Cain]
(Yeah) Yeah, y'all know who it is
Uh-huh (SLK) [?]
Motherfucker, I'm Cain (Paul Cain) [?] fuck [?]
[Verse 3: Paul Cain]
Cain got the heart of a soldier, mind of a general
Strategy is important, timing is critical
We wear tracks out, lyrically I'm a beast
From Brooklyn's backbone, epitome of the streets
Only the strong survive, if you physically weak
You get gunbutted, stabbed, shot, and critically beat
'Cause listen, ain't no shook hands in Brooklyn
Presidential with the matching bullet bracelet, it's a good look, man
Call me whatever, I hustle and I rap a little
You see the color stones chain look like a pack of Skittles
I give 'em anthrax, every bar is that official
I know I'm a gangster, I ain't got to pack a pistol
I don't rap in riddles, I give it to a n***a
Straight, no chaser, I'm like Hen' on the rocks
If it ain't the fifth, it's probably the Glock
I'm the n***a Clue and Duro call when they need the bodies to drop
If it ain't the chain, it's probably the watch
When I ride if it ain't the truck or sedan, it's probably the drop
Play the block, I don't party a lot
I'm the one who sent the goon with the snub to get the jewels from the club
I could never blow all my dough
When I get at least ten people robbed at all my shows
And all I know: money, clothes, birds, and cars
Running from Po's, champagne, furs, and R's
Quite sure you must've heard of the God
If not I'm Cain, Triangle Offense, I'm a third of the squad
I'm the first line of the defense, the star point guard
Is back starting, y'all be used to riding the bench
[?] fuck that "no women, no kids" shit
When the shotty blows, everybody goes, business is business
But dig this, fuck a guilty conscience
I'll put a slug in you, really give you something to live with
Fuck street fighting, I pull a hammer in a split second
The kid breathe fire, and speak lightning
These n***as ain't writing
All they did was analyze my flow, and use my style so their liking, n***a
[Ad-Libs: Paul Cain (DJ Clue)]
Fuck (yeah), yeah
(Desert Storm) Cain
Ask about me

[Outro: Paul Cain]
Now the year's new, I laid my game flat
I want my spot back, take two, motherfucker