In case you didn't know, my flows grows for sure.
I'm makin' sure you niggaz don't try me no mo'.
Weak shit you talkin', and I'm surprised it's sellin'.
Ruthless self niggaz full of felon's, who the fuck you tellin'?
Braggin' bout money, where that shit be at?
After videos, all that shit, we never see that.
Bitches with big asses, blunts, and big cars.
Shot callin' niggaz, pissy drunk in them titty bars.
Ren assassination; all of these
Wack-ass rappin' niggaz that say they sellin' keys,
And fuckin' hos, and smokin' a million blunts a day,
Shooting a hundred niggaz, and saying he walked away without a scratch;
Some Rambo shit side a head.
Livin' with yo' mama, talkin' bout a hundred grand.
Nigga please, who the fuck you think you talkin' to?
Real niggaz comin' after you, we after you.

[Chorus x 2]
You fake ass ballers who we talkin' to,
(We comin.) Lyin' on records bout what you do.
(We comin.) The shit y'all doin' is played out and through.
(We comin.) You come with that shit, we come after you.

It's the Don Daddy, with the Villain, who you killin'?
Oh, we hate 'em, come verbatim with this cap peelin',
Top billin', make a million.
Paparazzi, chase us through the tunnel in the Maserati;
Now they got me on Hard Copy, didn't have to shoot Versace.
Yet you still want to watch me,
Motherfuckers, wait they whole fuckin' life and a day.
Hopin' that we can reunite N.W.A.
All purpose, try to serve us, gettin' nervous, mo' murders.
Shit can just turn into the service.
Standin' over the carcass.
You look like the kind of nigga that'd press charges.
We the largest, we the biggest, we the niggaz with the attitudes.
We longitude, you latitude.
Have some gratitude,
To the niggaz that started this shit.
Been around forever bitch; we smart at this shit.
Don Mega, MC Ren, Ren, Ren!

[Chorus]

I make the Planet Groove nigga, mo' than BET.
Yo' bitch tied up, phoning home like E.T.
So kick in that fifty grand
Before you find body parts, nigga, in Japan.
A motherfuckin' lyricist, nigga, top cop.
I'm makin' hits with yo' bitch ass, talkin' 'bout
That same old shoot 'em out. I'm smokin' fifty blunts,
That's why yo' shit ain't comin' out for, like, fifty months.
Ain't nobody tryin' to hear... your nigga outdated.
Your wack-ass quit tellin' niggaz that you made it.
I'm never faded, like a ghost, Villain, disappear.
Buy some shit to resurrect my dick the next year.
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, to the earthquake.
How much garbage these mothefuckers go and make?
You better shake, fuck that, here I come strong.
Best believe Ren will rock the shit all night long.
(Best believe.)
We out.

[Chorus x 2]

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): CYRIL JORDAN, ROY A LONEY, Roy Loney