[Intro: C-Bo | Brotha Lynch Hung]
Vicious, vicious spit around here, boy, uh-huh
Uh (Mmm), uh (Mmm)
These n***as don't want (Hmm)
What (Hmm), yeah (Yeah)
C-Bo (Brotha Lynch)
West Coast (West Coast)
On the map (On the map)
What (What)
Uh-huh (Yeah)

[Verse 1: C-Bo | Brotha Lynch Hung]
Y'all ready for the all-out callin' out?
Bitch want a n***a that's ballin' out (Ballin' out)
Money ain't right, they fallin' out (Fallin' out)
In the doghouse all night callin' out (Callin' out)
Spend money, like stylin' out
Every night, Sunset, whylin' out
I was at her place, all in my face
Next thing you know, I was grippin' her the waist
Had that pillow in her face
All up in your place, dick all up in your face
I just exercise game on a bitch (And what?)
Hang out the window and chain slang on a bitch (And what?)
Cock game then aim on a bitch (And what?)
Tryna get off into the brain on a bitch (And what?)
Bet that, I make change on a bitch
Flip 4-point-6 Range on a bitch (Bitch)
Same n***a, same trick, same wrist, n***a, just frostbit
At the bar, all six bottles of Cris', hookers look like models and shit
N***a, 'cause we...
[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung & C-Bo]
Gangsta, n***a, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though

[Verse 2: Brotha Lynch Hung]
I used to ball like my cock is Will and Dog and Jerome
Used to hang out the window with the .9 chrome when it was on (Fuck you, n***a)
Used to sing out the window when I was 14 years old
It was 1 o'clock in the morning, in her window, hard as a stone
Gotta get it on
Hit dome, split dome, spit chromes in they crevices
Gotta let it rip; better hope that clip don't split you like a lettuce
Got a fetish for meat, retreat, penetration generatin' the heat
Beat, 'til it's bloody meat, got it all on my Dickies and seats
Never trusted a ho, just busted a ho in the grill (Bitch)
I'm the type of a n***a that'll get real
Shoot them slugs in your bill, gotta get that mill
Gotta pop that pill too, gotta fuck you 'til I kill you
Light grip, don't even trip, eat 'em up like soul food
This is 4, fool, and the 9 connected
Double jeopardy if you step to me
Get a hysterectomy for disrespecting me
Expect to leak your life away
Used to cut 'em up in little pieces for the McRib
Hook the meat like fish fillet
N***a, 'cause we...
[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung & C-Bo]
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Tuck 'em, don't love 'em though
Gangsta, we like, fuck a ho
Never thinking of 'em though

[Verse 3: Kam]
I'm a rhyme fanatic, Titanic grind, used to minor static
Tryna have it, automatic MAC, Black vagina addict
Silly rabbit, Trix is for kids, you must be crazy
'Cause screwin' got n***as doin' bids and pushin' up daisies
It never ceases to amaze me what n***as do for the cot
Like what G's do for the block and these fiends do for a rock
Tick tock, it don't stop, from the back, bottom or on top
We got 'em hot—if we can't make it crack, then it won't pop