(singing like Joe "I Don't Wanna Be A Player")
He don't wanna be a Muslim no more
He used to be black and proud
Now he wanna be hardcore, ooh, ohh (repeat)

(Verse)
When I met this cat he was eatin' veggie burgers
Now you see him yo he think he about murders
I used to write his rhymes and let him shine
Knowin' that he old school and out of time
Bitch made cat and yo he shot a kid
On top of that yo he got his man doin' a bid
Ex-crackhead and lived in a crackhead crib
Never sold records now he tryin' to live
But he was my man, I was the key he was a quarter gram
You like 37, lets give it up man
You in this war you shoulda let me know
If it's war when I see you gonna let you go
But you's a homo thug, faggot though
I hate you and the rest of y'all faggots though
So let me boost you and eat y'all n***as what you're used to
You just mad cuz you wasn't in the Juice Crew
You a Muslim now or just used to?
Five Percent today or just used to?
Aiyyo a thug this week or just used to?
Mad cuz I cut you off cuz you was soft
I got jumped you had the gat and you didn't let off
Ice broke it up than I turned around and split off
Yeah my n***a shot the n***a in the North Face cloth
So what the fuck, watch my wyle like what
You can't rock shit
Thugged Out Entertainment we fuck you up
All my MU n***as straight scuff you up
And all my n***as freak bitches like me and Kurupt
Aye yo you bitin' my style fearin' my words
You ain't pro-black because you like po' white birds
Eatin' ham with your man while you in the suburbs
You like old school and washed up
I told you rhyme like a dog and put your heart up
Tell the truth, tell the truth
Why you tellin' them lies
You goy mad cuz I was fuckin' with Jung and Nas
And you hate Nas right that's what you told me right?
Everything that he did yo you tried to bite
Don't get mad cuz you weak and he real tight
The QB n***as don't like you neither
You had dreds now you met now you got a Caesar
Bitin' my style, bitch in your style
You was in for the culture how you switchin' your style
And you know it ain't over yet
Cuz me and my click will bring the rest
You bring your clique, I bring my click and it'll be no sweat
And we can do it in Manhattan n***a, tec for tec
And it ain't about n***a...(What, What) make a bet
If you think you corny now
Just wait until you write your own rhymes (2x)

Outro:
You what's funny, nobody's feeling this dickhead motherfucker
You smell me?
On every fucking song I get on
I'm going to shit on him
On every fucking remix I touch I'm going to shit on him
But you know what
Fuck all that shit
Let's do it in the streets n***a
Let's fight up, head up
You bring your little bitch ass n***as that you running with
That's running around telling stories and shit
And I'ma bring my n***as and we can do this
You smell me, fuck all that talking shit on records
Let's do this shit on the streets you bitch ass motherfucker
You better send Omar a pack, cause he's bleeding up North
And you the one that shot them n***as (you the one that shot the little kid)
You bitch ass n***a
Intelligent Homo
I ain't gonna front, we gonna kill yo ass on records
Every motherfucking time
And we gonna do it to you with the fist and all type of shit
You bitch ass n***a
I got cracks on sale and all that, for you
You motherfucking bitch ass, you fucking fat faggot
You never did nothing in your life
You never had no fucking record sales in your life
You did about 15,000
And now you see how I'm doing it
You wanna do what I do
It ain't possible
Fuck you, I'ma leave you in the hospital