(feat. Roccett & 211)

[Intro: Slick P. talkin']
Haha!
You n***as wann' play, mayn?
You n***as wann' war?
We'll take you to war!
This tha shield mayn!
C-T-E mayn!
You dunno whatchu fuckin' wit!! (Phureal)

[Chorus:]
You n***as wann' play? - We got somethin' hot for ya
Osama clips, we got a 100 shots for ya (Brrraa)
USDA (Aye!), Respect Tha Shield!
USDA (Aye!), Respect Tha Shield!
You n***as wann' play? - We got somethin' hot for ya
Osama clips, we got a 100 shots for ya
USDA (Aye!), Respect Tha Shield!
USDA (Aye!), Respect Tha Shield!

[Verse 1: Slick Pulla]
It's the shield, who wann' problems wit the 4 letters (Who?)
Thunder storm, on ya block give ya bad weather (Hahaa)
All black hoodie, all black gloves leather (Leather)
MossBerg hitcha chest, lift ya like a feather (Suckas!)
And I keep a clip of young truth's fine (Brrraa)
Bustin' at chya azz like them boys at Blood Dime (Blood Dime)
Grimin' wit it, but tha boys stay shine (Sheeh!)
Baby choppa' armor to jack it in the line (Talk to em')
You gon' bump and I knock off ya face
Witout the clippers n***a, you can get a fresh fade
You loose-lipped n***as finn' to get buttoned up
The Shield's here n***a, time to straighten up (Phureal!)
[Chorus]

[Verse 2: Young Roccett]
I'ma leave a man in abandon buildin', screamin' for The Lord
No feet no hands and includin' a broken jaw (Yup!)
Dress ya like a rapper so you don't feel left out
On the same shirt were got Kanye's chest out (Woo)
No goofy for the oozi, the semi-auto to mac 11
A.K. 47 leave his brains on the front yard
Infront of ya daughter, ya son or his grandpa
Hommies in the street deep, lookin' like a Trump squad
I'ma kill 'em, just gimme a clip
I got blue everywhere, like it's revenge of The Crips
Holes in ya body the size of a Bellagio chips
Yeah Roccett-Locs burner, boy as hot as it gits

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: 2 Eleven]
Gimme everythang n***a, this a 211
Run up on 'em, pull a pistol out my 87's (Cla-Clack!)
Blood money, yeah we cashin' out mills (Okayye!)
Disrespect The Shield and get killed (Chyeah!)
Nah, it ain't a game, dawg, it's real in the field (Aye!)
X amount of shells pop-a-n***a like a pill
Top down on the old school 'Ville
Chromed hunnid spokes on the muh'fuckin' wheels
Trapstar, I got work in the area (In the area!)
United Streets D-Boyz of America (U-S-D-Ayy!)
Betcha life that the Mossberg'll a bury ya (Bury ya!)
They gon' have to call a coroner to carry ya (Hahaa)
[Chorus]