(Intro)
All you mark ass tricks i never seen befo'
I been on the scene for years, y'all be saying
This n***a is hard
That n***a is hard
This n***a, the fuuuck
This trick n***a a traitor
Bitch ass mother fucker
C motherfucking Mac n***a

(Verse 1)
Nowadays every Puff-N***a and his Momma got a story
So every N***a out straight ballin'
I used to shoot this and i used to blast that
You probably made 3 albums before you scene a strap, ya mark
Lived your whole childhood straight on the run
Never wore a pair of khakis till ya turned twenty one
But now you on your album cover sagging in fact
You got your mean face on posing with ya strap
Talking bout the county but you never been there
Said you was looting like a ball but you straight square
Now how the fuck do a square ball bounce?
You couldn't tell a bird from an ounce, punk
Most of you marks never had no hoes
Till you start making videos, in some hustlers clothes
But it don't mean nothing
When you can't sail through your hood cause you straight fronting
C motherfucking Mac, if you don't know me
Bitch, i bet your money that your big homies know me
Nuts hang when i gets paid
I was doing jewelry store licks, when you was in the 6th grade
(Hook x2)
I can't stand no powda puff
Get his ass on the stage and then he`s straight tough
But put him on the streets and he`s a biiiitch
Powda puff, ya powda puff

(Verse 2)
I hate to bust your bubble Mr. Boss Player (pop)
But you nothin but a puff with the fruit layer
I heard you're shooting rhymes like an uzi
So why the fuck the n***as out your hood call ya suzie?
N***a, I got bitches on my dick with the feds looking for me
Robbing so much shit, they put the task force on me
Causing mo' static than a shirt
Fuck knocking boots, I send a bird to Albuquerque
Beeper overloading so I put the sky on it
1-800 come get ya grip
Cause imma do the reals when the chips get low
Fuck running back to mommas house, when you get short
You motherfucking mommas boy, with a deal
Cuss all you want punk, you still ain't the real
In 94' you rolling in a '4 on Daytons
In 84' you purple rain and just impersonating
How long has it been since you wore your one glove?
Singing Billy Jean, and I'm supposed to show ya love (Shiiiit)
Run up on a mac how figure?
There ain't nothing worse than a bitch made n***a
(hook x2)

(Verse 3)
Four or five cowards and you swear you got a crew
Whole crew running if a n***a say boo (boo!)
Cause you know, who the real and who the fuck the hoe is
And now the khakis and locs on its all for the showbiz (yeaah!)
That's why I never see you on the Shore
And never heard about you having run ins with the law
N***a, how you figure you can come speak on a pimp state
Gradually with ya paper with the P on
Bookie number 5478 hook
The only rap shit you gots in your note book
I'm turning more corners than a ferris wheel
You wanna roll shot bring your fear, its real
Stuck down n***as on the left and on the right of me
But you ain't nothing but a punk don't even lie to me
Last time I seen you, I saw you with your crew
Don't know the scratch and watch your ass, don't know what the fuck to do
In the middle of the centro
I been stuck down since i drove a pento so
Run up on a mac, how figure?
There ain't nothing worse than a bitch made n***a

(Hook x2)
(Outro)
This shit goes to 95% of you bitch ass n***as!
So analyse and divide this shit equally amongst yourselves
And if the shoe fits, wear it motherfucker!
You know who the fuck i'm talking to trick
Can't give no shout outs to no rap n***as, fuck all y'all!
Ain't nobody never did shit for me n***a!
So G's up and punk trick ass n***as down, mark motherfuckers!