[Big L]
Ugh, ugh, ugh, yeah
The NFL Crew and the Children of the Corn
Comin' straight from Money-Makin' Manhattan
A.K.A. Harlem, the home of the hustlas
You know how we do, yeah

[Verse 1: Herb McGruff]
Yo, crooked corrupt criminal crime boss with C.R.E.A.M
Cocaine hustler, blowin' out the brains of bustas
Be in my mansion, chillin', inhalin' ganja smoke
Countin' mad C.R.E.A.M., weighin' tons of coke
Guarded by thugs and Rottweilers
I flood the streets with drugs and clock dollars
N***as get plugged when my Glock hollers
Skunk smoker, Philly and Owl ripper, Cristal sipper
I been a Willie for a while, n***a!
'Gruff got hoes, the man wit' all the nachos
Expensive hot clothes, drop-top Rolls
East Coast, West Coast, fiends overdose
'Gruff get the C.R.E.A.M. wit' my team, then I'm ghost!

[Verse 2: Ma$e]
This money be temptin' me to jump out the MPV
Empty three clips of hollow tips wit' no sympathy
Since 14, I sold Morphine for more green
Kept dope in the Nautica coat, under the drawstring
And watched out for cops, squad cars and Bimmers
And larger ninas, flee the country to Argentina
Lay back on the beach, yeah, coastin' with commuters
Smokin' the buddhaz on the cruise line boat to Aruba
For a while, yo, pumped the vile so I could pile dough
Then become a Harlem kingpin just like Alpo
Get paid so I can lay low in San Diego
With yayo, and ship it out whenever I say so
[Hook]
Yo, makin' this money's the American Dream
East Coast to West Coast — you know what I mean
Whether it's Uptown or Downtown — you pick the scene
You gotta get your own scheme, we ain't splittin' this green

[Verse 3: Cam'ron]
Yo, I'mma run hysterically 'til they bury me
Count numerically, Hills of Beverly
More Grands than Cherokee
President like Eric B. and Rakim
Drug game — I'm top 10, locked in, right now is not a option
And those who creep — got the mag' in the heat
To guard the 5-inch screens in the back of the seat
And now they got this daddy braggin'
Last year, had me saggin'
Wasn't ready when Teddy was baggin'
Tossed me in the paddy wagon
But ain't nobody out here stoppin' love
'Cause we was 12 years old in The Cotton Club poppin' bubb'
So all the fame without the fortune? Goddamn, you wrong!
Killa kid Cam'ron, survivin' in the Amazon

[Verse 4: Bloodshed]
Yo, I leave you dazed and froze with all kinds of amazin' flows
Money surrounded, I count it, while bathin' with Asian hoes
Back home, n***as is after me
I'm past the sea sippin' Daiquiris
Coke factories, fiends baggin' up crack for me
From cuttin' up rocks to investin' in stocks
Nautica yachts and knots bustin' out of my socks
Now that blood's paid and chubby
All the ladies love me, they hate who made me hubby
Behind my back, they say my baby's ugly
Each night, I sleep with freaks in Lamborghini Jeeps
Neighbors be sneekin' peeks
Of how my semen leaks between the sheets
Mess up my loot, I'll cut ya collar swan!
'Cause these is modern times, and only thing I see is dollar signs
[Hook]

[Verse 5: Big L]
Check it!
To be seen clean in the mean Bimm' is every teen's dream
Big L's a C.R.E.A.M. fiend with more green than Springsteen
You know I'm crazy quick to smack a groupie
I'm known to mack a hoochie
Do I got stacks of lucci? (Absolutely!)
Harlem kids is known for felonies and sellin' keys
Pushin' 300Z's, GS3's and puffin' trees
These G's breeze while DT's be yellin' "Freeze!"
We stash G's and keep our pocket full of centuries
A-yo, I'm set for the rest of my life
Some clown that laid a threat 'cause I had sex with his wife
I stuck my tool to his brain, said "Act a fool and get slain"
N***a, ya bitch chose me, you know the rules to the game!

[Hook x2]