[Intro: Ras Kass]
Yeah, some n***as got bad reputations man
I know I got one
But this dedicated to my homeboy
My n***a Hex Murda, Royce 5'9", Rassy Kassy
C-SICK, Sick Jacken let's get it

[Verse 1: Ras Kass]
I'm still a conceited bastard
Threw away in Hell and said fuck it to asthma
Cause I self lord and master
Real n***a, let my nuts hang like a flasher
My life's The Hangover, Anchorman and Wedding Crashers
My n***as mix the weed and the hash up
I keep heavy water stashed up
Feed inter venous like plasma
Keep vix face down with ass up
Like my n***a Cipher Sounds, hope I don't get gassed up
But this Ras and whips get crashed up
Then a n***as ski masked up to up and go get it
My daddy used to say I was obstinate
But then my poppa split so why be the opposite?
The judge sentenced me said I don't respect authority
Yeah, probably true, ask Priority
Ask that bitch n***a Garnett in March I spit on at The Source Awards
So of course it's on
And my verses born with a curse upon
So I be fucking clowns up like circus porn
Peace to my n***a Hex, get well, we all praying
This dedicated to you for being 100 and staying...real
And saying exactly what the fuck you feel
Like these faggots wearing women's skin like Buffalo Bill, haters
I'll let the silencer bust in your grill
Fuck pigs too, I'ma muffle your squeals
And I still walk around like my shit don't stink
Bootleg your album then I'll post your link (n***a)
Fuck I'm so ill and I don't know Bill
So I'd rather kill you
Hide you in the shower and your corpse mildew
View to a kill, n***as hate my guts
But gotta respect how I take your lunch, n***a
[Chorus: Ras Kass]
My attitude is fucked up and real shitty
My latitude is much up and real gritty
Have your brain fucked up, I'm too witty
Watch how a n***a nuts up, like two titties
My attitude is fucked up and real shitty
I done made enough bucks, a few cities
Have your brain fucked up, I'm too witty
Dog I done had enough lunch, you too kitty

[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9"]
Now if your attitude determines your latitude
This house that we call Hip-Hop, I'm in the attic fool
A mic and some turntables, fit for the unstable
Converted to a padded room
Keep a street sweeper, in fact I call the Mag a broom
You seeing me you seeing things
You must of had yourself a bag of shrooms
I make a call make a faker fall
My clique is too sick so say goodbye
In the streets where the stakes is high
Like Ruth Chris, I'm from the city of true shit
Where the mayor went to jail for being a playa right after Proof split
Levels ahead of competitors, Royce that
I'm drinking everyday 'til Hex Murda get his regular voice back
Ras I got you, this K'll blast for you
From a block away, ask Tricky I'm that niggy
I'm more hooded than black Dickies
I rap like committing suicide in the booth taking the track with me
Patron's in my chromosomes in order to leave it alone
You have to ween me off
That Lorena Bobbit chopper'll knock a weenie off
Put your body between chalk
From squeezing the nine iron like you swinging golf
I'm the best rapper alive, put something on it
You sound plain as a cheese pizza with nothing on it
[Chorus: Ras Kass]
My attitude is fucked up and real shitty
My latitude is much up and real gritty
Have your brain fucked up, I'm too witty
Watch how a n***a nuts up, like two titties
My attitude is fucked up and real shitty
I done made enough bucks, a few cities
Have your brain fucked up, I'm too witty
Dog I done had enough lunch, you too kitty