[Verse 1: Sean Price]
Gotta be P hating
The fist to your face Clay, Muhammad Ali shaking
Fist full of chips grated, gotta be P caking
Whimp you with Jim faking, gotta be P aping
I sell white rock, and clap canons
I'm old school like white rock soda and backgammon
Rap phantom, Sean is a starving artist
I gain a lot of weight cause a n***a eating regardless
You a target, and talk about bullseye
You a Target employee, a good guy
And ain't nothing wrong with that, n***a
Ain't nothing wrong with this
I make something strong with rap, n***a
And guess what, the n***a next up
He can't make a song for shit
P -- mad smart, no Cornell West shit
But I can make death ring your doorbell next, kid
I told y'all I'm with the family, chill
Don't sleep, a phone call will get your family killed, P

[Hook: Torae]
Gotta be Sean
Gotta be who bodied the song
Cause Brownsville ill, gotta be on
Ruckus, you wrong
Gotta be -- what the fuck is you on?
Popping pills, chopping krills -- what the fuck is you doing?
Gotta be the best rapper to spit it
Clap in a minute
Gotta let these n***as know who still actually live it, P
[Verse 2: Sean Price]
It gotta be P snapping
The fifth to your face, shake, I gotta be relapsing
Spit in your face, maybe gotta be P laughing
Gift from the eight? Great, it gotta be P clapping
I can't stand around you bitch n***as
Emph beam make your team steam like a fish dinner
But the new shit burgandy
With new kicks straight from Munich, Germany
My net worth be making your neck jerk
Expert whenever, wherever the sket burst
The most fabulous flow
Yo, your whole shit dead, toe tag on the floor
Venomous speech, rappers play pretend with the beats
Hit with the knife, goodnight, then I send 'em to sleep
N***a, General P
And the kit is like the Confederate General Lee
P!

[Hook]