(Intro)
.........
1st Verse
So lets bring the funk, lets bring the noise, show these n***as we ain't playing boy!
Yo times up, you ain't wow us, yo weed raps they bore us
n***as be like "where that gully stuff?" I'm right here bruh, so listen up, word to God I spit real cuh, just ask SO who's next up
Yo peep the Steez I keeps it G, ya'll n***as can't do sh** to me, lyrically, physically, hypothetically, realistically, I'm the epitome of Wavy. Can't you see?
I smell fear, so beware, I from the grime, I stay on my grind, a young n***a got cream on his mind
Them dollar signs, I'm out for mine, young Crooklyn ain't playing this time. Ya'll n***as ain't saying sh**, cause ya'll found out I'm spitting prime time
Yes I walk a fine line, mad n***as fiending for the Shyne time with that Puff sign, but with this rhyme I'm finna come for they throat slime!!
(Choirs)
2nd verse
Pack the ammo, get the Glocks, them f** boys chatting that bumbcolt
"I heard rude boys tryina rumble on my block at 9 o'clock?"
"ayo SB they finna roll deep"
"Word up! I got heat"
"Jeezyuh! they must be mad if they tryina f** wit me sheeeeit"
f** yo in my face for? f** you talking sh** for?
f** you tryina get ghost? These f** n***as ain't tryina scarp though
So I say
f** n***a be gone
Gimme the throne
Boy I got grown
Oh you ain't know?
I'm k**ing the game
f** what they say
I skate till the morn
Yo Brooklyn we on
Yo Scotto we on
B.I.G may be gone
But as you can see
Big poppa lives on
Young Crooklyn is on!
The son of the korn
I keeps it goin on and on
Don't stop till I'm sitting front row at your funeral
What's poppin thou!?