[Intro: Drag-On]
What!
BX, n***a
Y'all don't know?

[Hook: Drag-On]
Ayo, its on – I see y'all n***as didn't learn
You was wrong – thought the fire didn't burn
Yo, it's on – me and Pun ain't from the Bronx?!
You was wrong – n***a, we can get it on

[Verse 1: Drag-On]
Ayyo, guns we toss 'em, and bodies we auction
To his family, we tell 'em he owed us a fortune
"Gimme forty-thou', you can have your child
You don't know what I had to go through to clap this clown"
Check my background, the last n***a to see you bleed
The last n***a to see you breathe
The last n***a you wish you shoulda believed
And Drag move quick, blend right in the wall like a brick
The only thing you see before I blow off ya shit is my wrist
'Cause my hand, the gun is coverin' it, and at this range
When I pump this pistol, it's very rare I miss, it's damn near on your lips
Y'all keep talkin' like y'all Teflon with no weap-ons
"N***a, I'm pumpin' my Ford, I ain't thumpin' no more!"
Nowadays, n***as run upstairs, open they drawer
My circumstance, you ain't got that chance, mines in my draw
You get it?
That means I walks with two dicks, so don't be stupid
And make me use one, unless you my bitch
[Hook: Big Pun]
Ayo, it's on – you thought I was wack?
You was wrong – album double Plat
Yo, it's on – stop talkin' shit
You was wrong – get off my dick

[Verse 2: Big Pun]
How dare you doubt or deny Big Pun, the undoubtable
The only rapper that'll pull out a gun and slap the shit outta you
You can't tell me nothing, I'll clonk you and stomp out ya belly button
I'm too violent for this rap shit, I should be out somewhere killin' somethin'
Quick to blast, ya'll n***as talk shit and dash
But I really will kick your ass
Juggernaut – I don't care if you a thug or not
I'll get Jamaican on ya ass, rude boy, "what the bomboclaat?"
On your mark, get ready, run – I'm sparkin' everyone
Don't wanna get locked? Stand back and watch, where you from?
How dare you come and try to shit where I eat
Fuck you, n***a, literally – dick in your cheeks
You rich in the street, but I still hate ya'll n***as
Because up North, you be tossin' salads with maple syrup
I know you hate to hear it, but everybody know this one:
"Why you always gotta be right, n***a?
Why can't you ever be wrong?"

[Hook: Fat Joe]
Now it's on – from the Bronx, where it's at!
You was wrong – me and Pun brought it back!
Now it's on – stay on with the gat!
You was wrong – it's the Don, Joey Crack!
[Verse 3: Fat Joe]
Who the fuck want beef with Joe Crack?
Make your body fold back, lift his soul with the chrome MAC
I don't chat on the phone, 'cause the phone tapped
You heard there's money on the block? We control that
I got the work in the pot, where the stove at?
Cook it up 'till it's rock, get my dough back
You n***as so wack, trying to compete
I blind you with heat, I'm the reason crime on the streets
I die for my peeps, keep an open eye when I sleep
Let you slide, when I coulda put five in your Jeep
Who's liver than me?
I ain't know you really want it
I'm like Christ, n***as beg for they life when they see me comin'
Ain't nobody gonna stop my shine, you out your mind
Don't make me have to cock my nine, pop ya spine
Never did believe in the Don
Since '92, I've been proving that y'all n***as was wrong

[Hook: Remy Martin]
Ayo, it's on – thought I'd stay on the block?
You was wrong – now I'm Remy on the rock
So it's on – thought I wasn't gonna drop?
You was wrong – I was right all along

[Verse 4: Remy Martin]
I told these n***as that I was the sickest bitch
And every time you spit, I'ma spit some sicker shit
Ridiculous, I reminisce, blaze the track
Type of shit make a n***a wanna play it back
Y'all hatin' that – but I'ma make 'em all believers
Fuck hot, I'ma come and straight drop a fever
Cop a heater, turn around and pop ya leader
And for the followers, I'ma leave their heads hollower
Make your wig twist, as if I was Oliver
Layin' in a hospital, hooked up to monitors
As for the game, y'all lames just can't be first
'Cause I ain't never heard a bitch straight flame a verse
I blame the church, how God let you lie like that?
Who scribed for you? 'Cause you ain't never rhymed like that
So how the fuck you gon' tell me that chick is tight?!
She ain't aight, 'cause she don't write – you wrong
[Outro: Big Pun]
Yeeeah, baby!