[Verse: Mac Dre]
If I ain’t drunk now, I’m finna be
I’m  full of the Remy, ready to engage the enemy
Push  the extremity, hear me, and don’t let up
Use his bitch to set up, and then wet up
N***a, shut up, you ain’t got my mail yet
Get  hit with the Kel-Tec, with the shell-catch
My  bitch mail-fetch, sell sex, she rich
I check ill traps and will slap the bitch
So  cold, my little n***as from the North Pole
Put ya in a chokehold and shoot up your Ford Probe
Apply force, we a mobile strike force
Put 365 horse in a tight Porsche
When  my source gives me the coordinates
I sic ‘em, get ‘em, hit ‘em with the pair of ordnance
You insubordinates get the cutthroat guillotine
Ya-da-di-mean? N***a, this the killa team

[Chorus: Mac Dre & Mac Mall]
They on it, they want it, these n***as ask for it
They on it, they want it, these n***as ask for it
They on it, they want it, these n***as ask for it
They on it, they want it, these n***as ask for it

[Outro]
- Talk to the hand 'cause the face don't wanna hear it anymore
- What hand? Talk to your hand?
- You ain't all that and a bag of potato chips
- What are you talking about?
- Don't go there, girlfriend, mhm
- Whose girlfriend?
- Don't mess with me, I'm one crazy mofo. I had to pop a cop 'cause he wouldn't give me props in Oaktown. No? I heard that somewhere