text: Why niggas wanna clock me?
  Like that dance called the Tati
  Dont they know I break motherfuckers into parts like Rocky
  Part I, part II, part III, niggas cant fuck with me
  My styles knock-kneed plum crazy 
  Whos that wild ass motherfucker catchin wreck
  Stickin Jamaicans for sound sets outside discotheques
  Its Klep the death specialist, Stallone and Stone shit
  Stayin high representin for the nine-quint
  Ras bad guy, burns the house down like Left Eye
  Why try mimic? MCs get broke like speed limits 
  Niggas cant fuck with my metaphors
  Canin MCs like they in Singapore; Klep been through more wars
  Than Gump or Shore, put together catchin leathers
  On the regular, got that net, push me round and Dread stressin a
  Trick ho, what the Dread wont know wont hurt
  Robbin his workers for they work; now, WHOSE TURF IS THIS?
  Its Kleps, the clothes wreckers
  Life interceptor, pussy collector
  Got your bitch on my dick and I aint even stressin her
  Check enough sex in her, my styles irregular
  Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique moves in like the settlers
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  Throw gats to Giuliani
  Flows tighter than pigeon punani, try me, die G
  Dangerous, since my daddy bust me out
  The tip of his dick, Biggie Smalls with the wickedest shit
  Spit clips, niggas split like bananas
  Flavor like Tropicana; orange, mango, peach
  I strangle each -- negro for they dough
  Niggas get to bendin, got two cases, one pendin
  560 V-12 engine, women spinnin
  In 929 Mazdas, Tammy and Natasha
  The ménage à trois around my way
  Like Ill and Al Skratch smokin 50 sacks in the back of Acs
  Windows cracked, so sit back relax
  Yo Vec, crush the hash, the Berettas in the stash
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  What you doin with yourself? Stone hearts the way to wealth
  Indecisive thoughts make sentences get dealt
  Money makes the world go round, robbin shit
  Fuck a job shit, niggas want cribs, bricks and spliffs
  All-wheel automobiles, traction control
  For clay roads, rollin with dough, kickin game
  On the cell with bitches on hold, thats how we roll 
  Rhymes now tight as hell so to the bank I stroll 
  Money on my mind, open lips from my eyes
  Reveal pupils shaped like dollar signs --
  -- the world is mine!
  Niggas frontin, feelin twelve gauge pellets
  B.I.G. is repellent, to all that He say, she say
  We play, Russian roulette, fuck the threat
  Your whole crews vagina, you and your co-signer
  Nigga, we rollin in eight and a halfs, TVs in the dash
  Three Gs in the stash, see we love the cash
  More coke to make some more
  Niggas say Oh my lord!
  Niggas dont know bout my game, they dont know
  How complex it is, baggin bitches in GS 300 Lexuses
  And the sex is for summer sports
  Passports for drug transports to remote resorts
  Bitches with Donna Karan Catwoman suits, matchin figure boots
  Haircut cute, on tops and garters like prostitutes
  My lyrics explicit
  Got bitches bringin they own condoms on the first visit
  If Biggie bring big bowls of beef
  Backin bitch niggas down, burners bring bundles of belief
  Common thief, slash drug chief, syndicated
  Went from 10 K, to 24 K and motherfuckers hate it
  J.M. sedated, quarantined 
  B.I.G. for President, buckin shots past the spleen
  9 millimeter dream, MAC-11 nightmares
  Electric chairs, which MCs do you fear?
  Big Poppa, Junior M.A.F.I.A., nuff said
  Niggas disrespect just are dead...