[Chorus: Cam'ron]
Hey yo my niggas can't take music
Everybody rap to us, so we hate music
Now we make the hate music
We 'bout to rape music, straight up degrate music
You ain't 18, shit, don't even play music
Killin is another high
I hope your girl get AIDS, your brother crash and dash
Or your mother die, and your sister is a topless dancer
No answer, glaucoma, and your pops got cancer

[Juelz Santana]
Yo I'm a motherfucking nightmare, why y'all can either love me or hate me
Know a lot of niggas want to slug me and waste me
That's why I never keep the gun on safety
When I get this money, why y'all goin' hate me
Why y'all act like Harlem ain't that shit, go 'head and play dumb
Like why'all don't know where AlPo and Rich bought the caine from
Sugar hill cocaine slums, get it correct
Real niggas spit at your chest, look at your death
Why y'all cop PlayStation's, play Live 2000
I'ma cop guns, try to survive 2000
Nigga like me be on the block every day
While you think your moms look rocked every day
Cause she come see me for them rocks every day
Keep the thing close, ready to pop every day
Cause I'm tired of you spot betters
I got a 380 full of hot peppers, that'll rip through them cop's sweaters
You dudes is chumps, talking 'bout you live like thugs
You be home watching Midnight Love
No bitch, you and your hand making midnight love
It's over dog, you need to just get right fuck, what

[Chorus]

[Cam'ron]
I got the gun and clip, running shit
I run chains, run rings, run in your block, make you run
Then I run things
Piss in a cup, come on, fuck a drug test
I'm on my block, knockout kings, slug fest
A few beers cold, come through here bold
A few of us blew our goals when fucking two years old
Off to the lobby, all to the body, then auction a shottie
Go to Boston and party hardy with Walter McCardy
Drunk, smacking bitches off the Bacardi
Hustle often as robbery, so guns, coppin double
Fuck around with me, I'ma pop your bubble
Put up my own yellow tape, save the cops the trouble
If you want to see my true portions, screw bossing
Kill you like Mike pop for new Jordan's
Come through flossing, jail ain't nothing for me
I got cake baby, bail ain't nothing for me
I'm that same son of a B, gun in the V
Coke, guns, hookers, I'm the one that you see
Cats still talking fly, put his tongue in a tree
If we nice, then we'll let him keep his lung for a G
When I rap, it ain't nothing but hungry you see
Jimmy, Juelz, Cam, yo I'm one of the three, bitch

[Chorus]