DJ Paul:
Who run it (x15)
Chorus: DJ Paul (4x)
These bitches ain't runnin'(runnin'), shit but y'all mouth
Cause the first hater step, the first hater get tossed out
DJ Paul:
These niggaz got plenty ammo, but they ain't got plenty guns
I'm bustin' out of these cars, got the hoes on the run
I'm hearin' plenty of words, but ain't no actions to boot
We can do some straight war for war, we can do some stickin' and movin'
We can meet in the middle of these streets or in the middle of this rain
I can pop your chest, blast the glock, or pop your jaw diamond ring
Bitch don't hate me hate the bank, or snatch the G's that I take
Or hate my shiny wristband, and big ass rims I rotate
See people flip when I'm comin', got some of 'em sick at the stomach
They wonder what I brought in, they wonder what I got comin'
Niggaz I'm comin' like this, off in your mouth like a bitch
Test me when you think I'm in, I'm bringing water, I'll start it
Juicy J:
What's this
It's that player that you love to hate, always see come out the bank
Always have to mention my name, when you high on that drank
Catch you with this boy you can't, cause you know I'm holdin' rank
When you see the platinum Rolex with the ice it make you faint
Through the streets now have you heard, out the Mafia droppin' birds
Runnin' from the nazi cops, tossin' out the bags of herb
Ain't afraid to pop the steel, hollow tips to make you feel
If you wanna punk me out, pop these niggaz in they grill
Chorus: DJ Paul (2x)
Crunchy Black:
I can't take any more, I'm bout to explode
I'm bout to overload, I'm bout to kill boy
All I wanna know is where the G's at, where the Ki's at
Keep it easy, you don't want to get speedy
All on this muthafuckin' boo, nigga boo
Get on your back so we can get up soon
Stab you in your heart with a hard fucking poon
Nigga boo, nigga boo
Lord Infamous:
Scarecrow's on it, I'm still hungry, stoppin' for a platinum supper
Wipe it easy, some black founded, crooked ass set'll be eating rubber
Casue if they skit-skat, gun 'em all down, even ghost towns
Splish-Splash, brains on the ground, with a cannon round
Ball bat, bash him in his back, beatin' bitches down
Battle like blaze from the cross, that he never found
Catch a close encounter from the anarchism of these A-bombs
Chemical reaction cause the venom shot in to his arm
Chorus: DJ Paul (3x)
Gangsta Boo:
Here we go, all you weak ass hoes
In my face like you my friend
Triple Six dropped in again, time to make ends