What the fuck
Y'all niggas supposed to be family man
Niggas out here fightin in the
Street and shit man

After ten long, years, guess who comin, home
Uncle Rahiem who got busted with the chrome
But this sorta uncle's like
Rich Porter's uncle so he be in my shoebox
And messin with my hustle
This nigga keep playin around we
Gon' have to tussle cause this ain't
Back in the days when he had all the muscle
And used to be on Hollis
With Joey Simmons and Russell
So I'm here to clap my things
And figure out this puzzle
'Cause what'll make this nigga think he
Could come to my momma house
If he wasn't family I'd probably
Pull the llama out
But I'mma go the karma route
Ever go to the karma route well you know
Nigga be buckin with the armor out
But this nigga be on the couch
And watchin my pockets hard
Peekin through the blinds when I pull
Up and park the car
And read between the lines when I
Push up to talk to broads startin real live
We gon' definitely wind up at odds
'Cause if I see another shirt
Offa my wardrobe
I'mma turn this lil' happy home to a war zone
And if I find another piece
Missin from my package
He'd better grab his piece cause this
Time we goin at it

'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me (Uh)
This nigga right here must got it out for me
(Uh)
'Cause I solemnly swear that we about to see
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me
I told that motherfucker grip up
Grip up nigga grip up, grip up
And I'll be waitin' right here
When you slip up
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me (Uh)
This nigga right here must got it out for me
(yeah)
'Cause I solemnly swear that we about to see
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me
I told that motherfucker grip up
Grip up nigga grip up, grip up
And I'll be waitin' right here
When you slip up

Uh 'cause after six long, months
Guess who's unem-ployed uncle Rahiem
Cause he been runnin with his boy
And now he got a girlfriend
This fiend named Joy
I guess he bad smokin but I'm
Tryin to keep my poise
But if my momma tell me some'n
Missin from her jewelry box
I'ma probably be trapped by my
Peers in a jewelry box
I try to love him my heart
And disregard my brain
But ever since he moved in
The crib's been off the chain
I don't need no one to blame
Cause the facts are the facts
Since the word got back to me
Just as fast as a fax
'Cause I got cash in the jack
Askin me what I'm doin
How you gon' work this hard and
Let your hustle get ruined?
And I had to admit
That that's a point well taken
Here's the world of price I'm payin
For the L that I'm takin
'Cause the trouble he done caused done
Got my connects and them stallin
'Cause now I got the hottest crib in all of ?
So when I see 10-4, my body parts ill
'Cause I'm scared to death they might
Give me the mob grill
'Cause ever since he gave out
Our number like Mike Jones
Them di-rects be comin at me
Harder than Spike Jones
So I hope his parole officer
Ask where he live
So I could say "No officer
This not where he live
And I ain't seen the nigga and
Don't know what he did
And he'll get by later 'til
He through with his bid"
I know it sounds cold like
The wind below freezing
You might not understand but I
Got my own reasons
'Cause once we at odds I could only get even
But maybe my foolish pride is
Why we in the precinct

'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me (Uh)
This nigga right here must got it out for me
(Uh)
'Cause I solemnly swear that we about to see
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me
I told that motherfucker grip up
Grip up nigga grip up, grip up
And I'll be waitin' right here
When you slip up
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me (Uh)
This nigga right here must got it out for me
(yeah)
'Cause I solemnly swear that we about to see
'Cause this nigga right here must
Got it out for me
I told that motherfucker grip up
Grip up nigga grip up, grip up
And I'll be waitin' right here
When you slip up

Word to my mother I'ma fuck you up
When we get out of here
(Nigga you ain't doin' shit, pussy)
Aight, watch son, soon as I post bail, nigga
I'mma come holla at you
(Nigga you ain't doin nothin)
You fuckin crackhead-ass nigga
Fuckin my shit up
(Yo son, word to my mother man
Call me a crackhead again and we
Got a fuckin problem nigga
I changed your motherfuckin diapers punk)
Yeah aight nigga, whatever bitch

Copyright: Ultra Tunes
Writer(s): DEXTER MILLS, EMMANUEL KARRIEM RIGGINS