Bizzy:
. . . when the thugs cry
This is what it sounds like [this is what it sounds like, this is what
it sounds like . . .] . . .
. . . when the thugs cry [when the thugs cry, when the thugs cry].

Bizzy:
Nigga, we represent the planet. Get schizophrenic and panic. Maybe
the past would understand if they get off they ass and mash.
How do you manage? Paranoid, don't even trust my boys. Watch
for them plots and deploys, envoys, scopin
like a dope fiend, when I'm smoked in the alleys with these ghetto
guns and erased my funds Watts niggas in Cali take
bullets to the brains, still rowdy. Jesus really never died--you
crucified mutual suicide. Who am I? Loco with vocals, goin'
coast to coast. Heaven'll move me, right, for sure. Deception whether
my brethren, but sunny days when I parlay. Get killed
when I get to steppin'. Remember the weapon (come) and the doctor said
I need time to myself where ocean those frivilous
thoughts, thug for the Bone, up puttin' this independent stardom. Seven
relentless evil intentions, nobody knows 'em, Im even a henchman, warrior,
poet, never to mention i love my lady rebel?
And we can get the stroke on. And we can get
the stroke on. And we can get the stroke on. And we can get this
stroke on, when the thugs cry.

This is what it sounds like (this is what it sounds like,)
. . when the thugs cry
[when the thugs cry, when the thugs cry].
[Are you ready, ready?]

Bizzy:
We keepin' the lights on at Ruthless and I ain't fuckin' the boss,
lookin' at me sexy. Take your clothes off, and my dick'll go
soft. Never mix business with your sickness. Enemy see me flippin'
in the picnic with your little divide and conquer, but my
sister was ready to bomb her. Get off the diznick and up off my
voice. Me and my boys, give us a choice. How could you
ever tell Sony that I was the only one was makin' noise? Ain't it a
breech of trust? Look in the gutter. Ha! Never judge your
book by the cover. Word to the muthafucka! Huh, I didn't studder.
But what if I lost and I came in the office, and nobody
noticed with explosives on top of Versace clothes. Give up the
ghost. Krayzie's Picasso. Little Layzie's like Caesar.
Stack's like little Pesci in Casino, and Wish don't give a fuck, ho. I'm
Gambino. And the walking dead woke up on the wrong
side of the bed. Bible of survival, triple six rivals [triple six
rivals, rivals]--none of you said, but I roll with killas, niggas
that'll bust a nigga. We don't feel strapped in the bed, kickin' up the
camp on the realest, the realest, the realest.

This is what it sounds like
(this is what it sounds like).
[Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . ]
. . . when the thugs cry
[when the thugs cry, when the thugs cry].
[Are you ready, ready, ready?] Oh no!

Bizzy:
Here to make your body shake, when it's too late, soon as you flipped
off the safety. Baby, this be all day, don't tell me you
crazy. Would they tell me? Hell, naw. But the reason there's
weepin', we off with a demon, so cheap. And at least she
peekin', so peep deep down in your pockets. Don't sleep, rulin' with
my crucifix, Lucifer usually uses it to rule all these
wicked tricks in the school of these ghetto games. And the fool, this
bitch is missin'. Shame, shame, shame. Enemies attackin'
me. Actually I'm in the grave, ask Mr. Majesty. These
casualties--well, they passin' me by, but I hear death callin', when
it's so cold in a room, who's stallin'? Better come after me, and we say,
"Fuck ya'll." Haul into battle [we battle, battle].