[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