[Verse 1: Hurricane Chris]
[?] paper, I got long paper
Long paper like the teeth of an alligator
I'm stacking paper, I get ratchet
And I go up and down on your girl like an elevator
Me, I'm after money, six-hunnid
Five-fifty, get with me, I'm nifty
So fast, fo'-fifty
Foe with the shift kick so fast only I'm shifty
So nifty, you ain't even on my level
I'm hot as the devil, boilin' like I'm a tea kettle
You could come and try to try me, I'ma knock you out like I'm Ali
You don't even need to see my ID
And you know that I'm real, you could check my street background
Heaters'll clap at ya, make your whole clique back down
I nevеr have been a lame, you ask your baby momma
I beat it out thе frame

[Verse 2: K'naan]
Uh, yeah
I take rappers on a field trip any day
They never been opposite real clip anyway
I know where all the looters and the shooters stay
I'm from a city they call Doomsday
And rappers are just fried chicken like Tuesday
Are you from hood, huh? Who say
My Nigerian thugs will call you [?]
Around here we only bumpin' Fela Kuti
2Pac or Bob Marley, Lucky Dube
So we don't really give a F about what you say
[?]
[?]
[?]
[?]
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[?]
[Verse 3: Bun B]
Well, the Underground King is back
And you know I'm comin' through, man, I bring my hat
And then I rock it to the left, that's the Rap-a-Lot lean
I'm a Rap-a-Lot rapper, on the Rap-a-Lot scene
Representin' Port Arthur Texas to the fullest
I didn't bring my gun, but I still got bullets
I spit heat rocks all on the mic
I'm an Underground King, so I do what I like, and I
Give a shoutout to the victims of Hurricane Ike
Keep your head up, I never let up, yo
These haters keep talkin' trash, I'm fed up, yo
I'm 'bout to smack him right out of his get up, yo
'Cause it's a costume he's wearin'
He's a cartoon character, I'm not hearin' you
You's a faker, fronter and a phony
Bun B, I'm all about the mon-ey

[Verse 4: Q-Tip]
Yo, yo, yo
Your dubious style may rock for right now
But in the long run you really lost one
Jamaica, Queens, man, land of the tossed gun
It's never easy, police no sees we
Go through the check point birds flipped to Po 9
I got a bad bird nicknamed The Sunshine
I treats her so kind, sweet nothings at night-time
And to the right tune we hit the right grind
I dig her fashion, smash into my memory
And in the club shorty stays rear endin' me
A humble dude, but never will pretend to be
The type of dude that's desired for this industry
Came in as [?] and I'ma leave me
And in the end, B, you will believe me
That I'ma do me, so what's a industry
If the listeners will always stand beside me?
Let's go, B