[Intro: Jim Jones] 
R.I.P Big 
We some niggaz that's gonna make you proud of this game 
Smell me? (Jones, Capo) 
Cash Money (Santana) 
Dipset (Lil Weezy) 
Let's Ride 

Cause real g's know the feeling (It's Murda) 
It's hard body, no remorse for the killing (Watch It) 
Cause real g's know the feeling (It's Murda) 
It's hard body, no remorse for the killing (Weezy) 

[Verse 1: Lil Wayne] 
Mad trees and bitches in dungarees 
The city under seas, kitchen 100 degrees 
I love that summer breeze, I'll stand in it until it freeze 
I'm from another breed, them sss, southern g's 
I sip phemetrazine, I lean, I stand tall 
I'm mean, I'm mad raw, I'm coming like fastball 
Steee-rike, Yup, so get it right 
Nigga, one of my sniplets'll end your whole life 
You ain't nothing but a riblet to a nigga with a knife 
In a fork, I'm a pig myself, I eat schwork 
So be smart and play your own part 
If you don't love yourself, I'll make you see your own heart 
And we don't like the narcs, stay away from the cell 
Hey, I'ma shoot it out if I'm facing the ail 
Yea, so tell your girl to come and make me rich 
Weezy Baby nigga, 9 to 5, 10 to 6 

[Chorus: Jim Jones] 
All night, I can't sleep, I toss and turn 
Got my hand on my pistol, when will these motherfuckers learn? 
(Watch it) I ain't going out without a fight 
I'm with whatever and I ain't going out without a fight 
I'm with whatever and I ain't going out without a fight 
I'm with whatever, It'd be your life before my life 
At night, I can't sleep, I toss and turn 
Got my hand on my pistol, when will these motherfuckers learn? 

[Verse 2: Juelz Santana] 
It's showdown time, throwdown time 
Same d-off, four pound time 
Clack Clack, go get yours, I'll go get mine 
Check it man, I'm wit whatever 
Goodness gracious the paper 
Where the cash at? Where the stash at? 
I'll blow that ass back for fronting on a nigga like me 
You got nothing on a nigga like me, you'll see 
I'm on the grind from sun up to sun down 
If I'm lying, may lightning come down and strike me right now 
I'll turn a dollar to a twenty to a fifty to a hundred 
Keep it coming til I'm full on my stomach 
I'm stuck in my ways, I'm stuck puffing my hase 
Hand on my pistol, front of it sprays 
I'm stuck living the life of a ghetto nigga 
Trying to get rid of the life, alright? 

[Chorus]