[Intro: Rinky Dink Ho & Project Pat]
Oh, shit, what's up, Pat?
What's up, what's up with y'all?
What's up ladys? What's goin' on?
What's up?
You still fuckin' with them Hypnotize n***as?
Come on, man, you know the business, you see the chain?
What's up like that?
You need to come on over to Rinky Dink Records (Come on)
We'll give you a seven thousand offering
Seven thousand?! Is that all?
You can get some Tommy's and get fresh
Tommy? Ho, get fresh?! Is you crazy?
Bitch, you ain't on my level, you need to get the hell out my motherfuckin' face, ho

[Interlude: DJ Paul]
Yeah you motherfuckin' hoes
Y'all know the motherfuckin' deal
Hypnotize Camp and Prophet Posse in this motherfucker
Get one of these gold plaques on the wall before you talk some old
Motherfuckin' shit
Bitch, it's whatever n***a
We in this motherfucker for the '99
9's to your head, ho
(Mafia, mafia, mafia, mafia, mafia, mafi-ya, ya)
[Verse 1: Juicy J]
Glock 9's, TEC-9's, any kinda gun, bitch
Evergreen gats have got these cowards on the run, bitch
Kill 'em like they convicts
Know they hear them guns click
Doped up like a motherfucker (Cough, Cough, Snort)
You could catch me in the same hood, on the fuckin' same block
With a pearl Rolex watch, and a knot, and a Glock
9 o'clock clock n***a like to slang 'cause I be hustlin' weight and
We gon' put a end to you hoes and you n***as hatin'

[Verse 2: Lord Infamous]
I'ma be every fuckin' piece of skrilla cheese out here I can make
I'ma break every fuckin' bitch, fatalities that I can bring
I'ma millie my pillie but killie, killin' everything that I wanna kill
You weak ass n***as don't want Lord Infamous from South Parkway to get ill
Long from the norm, we get dumb with a bomb, with the guns you bitches y'all best get steel
Scarecrow, Club House, yes it gets ill
So, all y'all listen closely don't you ever forget
Y'all wouldn't, Y'all never be shit with out us bitch
Don't forget

[Verse 3: Crunchy Black]
Killin' ain't shit, bitches ain't shit
N***as ain't shit, bodies in a ditch
How any n***as gonna talk that shit
About the Crunchy fuckin' Black, Thug Posse you bitch
N***as gon' talk, bitches gon' start
Motherfuckers gonna get they bodies in a trunk
All I want is cash, motherfuckers have
Get down on your knees, give me all your cash
[Verse 4: Scan Man]
Whoa, motherfucker watch yourself, just watch your back
'Cause still we chillin' with Pat
Straped with them gats, be ready to attack
All you hatin' ass n***as that wanna jump, yo punk, what's up?
You better come up real with your motherfuckin' shit, 'cause boy, it's gonna get rough
Situation's gone bad, for you n***as claimin' killers
Automatic triggers pullin' drillin' holes inside your liver
How you figure, I was gon' let you talk that shit and peep these streets
Sayin' "That Scan Man boy's a bitch" now watch them throw lights out in my head

[Verse 5: DJ Paul]
Killin', buckin', buckin' up in Gunfire
Bullets rickin' off the walls, n***a this is Warfare
Suckers claimin' they got nuts
You don't know these elephants
Specialise in takin' notes, specialise in nappy hoes
N***as this is serious, I can't play no games no more
N***as actin' curious, but I think they know the score
Bitches know the Hypnotize medallion show what click you claim
Hold it up strong, only those who stay real, or maintain' in this game

[Verse 6: M.C. Mack]
A lotta' n***as talk that shit and end up gettin' they wigs split
It's M.C Mack, a n***a known for smackin', jackin' crackerjacks
Buster ass n***a, run your mouth and get your ass blowed off
Watch me put my ski-mask on, cock my gat back, trick, now drop it off
Shoot a stupid sucker in a minute, don't you give a fuck about another n***a, if he's speakin', use your counter attack
Rollin' like a n***a, smack a n***a like a n***a smack a bitch
You crump, you ain't no buster
Ain't no love lost off in my heart, there's no place colder
Won't you come a little closer, n***a, you won't be rollin' our
[Verse 7: T-Rock]
Socialists up actin' miss servin' sevens
Have 'em in jail suspended, in the middle
Started rivalries civil
Homies swithin', actin' fickle
But if you fuck with family ties, we leave you triple
That n***a there know his gun a missle, Lord don't flash on him, only man ain't chival
Erasin' ample businesses all in the name of the T-Rock
Suckers eat pot, swallow D, and get punished for three rocks
Bangin' the hit stops, it won't be over, 'til your heat pops
Away from the gravity, stand and point your a Tech and see him drop

[Verse 8: Gangsta Boo]
Yeah I know, I know
Down, down, baby goin' down, down
Sweet dreams baby, Rock-a-bye baby
N***as wanna run up, we be flexin' the TEC and
Be pointed at ya we comin', and I bitch, I bet you, I bet you
You wanna hit 'em, but n***a you can't forget 'em, forget 'em
Because you sorry, and sorry ain't nothin' but venom
I know bitches out there lovin' me, n***as got dreams of fuckin' me
Fuckin' me ain't the story gon' fuck you up more than me

[Chorus: DJ Paul]
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever, whatever, ho
It's whatever, whatever, ho
Whatever

[Verse 9: Project Pat]
Alot of gunfire, bustin' on you hoes to get my point across
Ridin' in your hood and let the motherfuckin' bullets toss
Tossin' me a berries pack, now I'm tossin' you some drama
Ridin' with my congregation, and we smokin' on marijuana
If you wanna go to war with us, we prepared to bust
Caught that n***as slippin' at his place, shot him in his face
Now I race, from the scenery, blowin' on greenery
Know I got a temper but you tricks wanna be mean to me
It's the weak, told to tell 'em, Julius Caesar, how he rolls
Newspaper, told to tell 'em, how he just got lnocked of his toes
You should know, that we rollin' deep, hittin' like a train
Kiss the floor, don't be lookin' dumb 'cause I don't explain
I maintain, killers catchin' drinks, Project catchin' cappers
Shootin' at your motherfuckin' lane, they be catching vapors
Player haters, violatiers, bullshiters, this for y'all
Boy I keep a big gun, you don't want none