[Hook: DJ Paul]
b**hes try to run game but Triple Six ain't goin G
And that's what you be f**in' wit my dawg
[Verse 1: Lord Infamous]
All these nasty, trampoline, s*utty, sleezy, triflin' dirty wrenches
Some of you heffers should oughta get yo head beat in
With some tree branches
And some ambulances getting sent to the trauma center
Some hoes they just open they legs up
And don't give a f** who the hell wish to enter
b**hes cannot understand why the Triple Six dog 'em
And do 'em low down
Scandalous funky co*k-skeezers they snatch off they clothes
And they pa** it around
Saditty materialistic stank b**hes
They keeping they nose in the air
Cracka crom a** b**h don't think you too good for a player
Hoe yo a** ain't worth them cheap draws tied around yo a**
b**h you best pay attention you might not graduate cla**
Let's have a discussion about all these b**hes
They love to be spreading these rumors
And who is all lying and saying they down with the click
Stupid b**h don't get hit with this Ruger
Hoe you better play like Heinz
And catch up with yo f**ing kind
Cuz Scarecrow is the n***a with a Stomp-a-broad type mind
Pimps do it cuz they use to it and wimps ain't cuz they can't
A pimp gon' do what he wanna and a hoe stand his corner
b**h
[Verse 2: DJ Paul]
Steppin' up out the house, fresh black Jordans on my feet