The Club (feat. D.I.T.C., Kid Capri & Party Arty)

The whole city's under siege when we come through wit' guns blazin'

You need to take a seat, son, you just started shavin'

Respect ya elders, stay in a child's play

The monotone flow stayin' even wit the bass

Oh good Lord, we throw it like a javelin toss

Arrogance is the feature that we added for floss

Come and get headline, destined to get riches

From either rappin' our ass off or brick shipments

Cover all regions, makin' sure the product gets spread out

We talk behind the MAC you bust lead out

Wit' next prospect, no particular concept do we follow

Smooth, but yet solid like marble

**** ain't fuckin wit D, fuckin' wit me

Lookin' at me like, "Yo, what can it be?"

In the Widebody 7 while you suckin' the D

Spent out in the wedge, while I'm fuckin' for free

Scared to death, like you stuck in a tree

I'ma stretch your ass out, like I'm cuttin' the deed

Frontin' like a big man, but you stuck in a three

So you know your floss game ain't nuttin' to me

When the sun hits the cross, yo, it's something to see

R.B., Kid Capri, **** runnin' wit me

Twenty karats on the wrist ain't nuttin' to me

Do you no good frontin' to me, ****

Aiyyo Tone, let's Touch these **** wit' the wand

Then blow up like a bomb

Made moves faster than the Autobahn

The Kid Capri is a institution, and all ya'll **** is pollution

Stirrin' up a whole lot of confusion

It's simple, let's move out all these corn cats

And disc jock dissin' MC's that got the borin' raps

Fuck what ya got, grimey **** don't wanna hear it

**** take it, soon as they near it, you better fear it

Bronx Bomber, the pretty fly girl charmer

The black Italian, the cash keep pilin' as I'm smilin'

So hear me now, I bring the thunder plus the rumble

And I'll step back and watch your whole career just crumble

Well it's the cheeba steamer, brains on trains, won't eat her neither

Benz to the plane, off the plane to the Beemer

Insane and off the meter, in the rain I'll heat up

And ya'll can't stop my sunshine, fuck one-time

Got heavy wit' gats to push your face back

Trash-ass album sound like you played it on 8-track

Rip you from the roots and under

Triple gooses in the summer

Mean long guns is producin' the thunder

Convertible Hummers, we shit on the Glock

Try to put the roof up, I'll tell Show to piss on the top

Wrist on the watch, roll wit' a click or a Glock

Plan on gettin' a lot, from spittin' or not

Cool wit' **** that be flippin' a lot

Probably got shit on your block

And if you hate, I'll take it back to '88 (****, get off the top)

It's 2-G's, let's get this money – you wit' it or not?

But I'll switch topics like my bitch wit' thongs in the Tropics

Make hits, straight hits

Perform as long as I got it

Seven-digits, wit' my name on the dotted

Remain dirty and potted, ya'll know me for the ruckus

G.D., I only can fuck wit'

Get the Dutch and tell Tony to Touch it

Guns, I tote them things

Blunts, I smoke them things

Rhymes, I wrote them things

It's no such thing, as hoes fron-ting

We run train, I do my thug thing

Grab the mic and leave a mud stain

So get Tide wit' bleach when I rhyme wit' beats

**** do crimes to eat

No pork, I don't talk, the nines just speak

I'm the kind to creep on your block wit' the heat cocked

Got the street locked, smackin' **** out they Reeboks

It's Party Artie, I get dirty wit' the Ewoks

The infrared hit you in the head from three blocks

Away, "Been There, Done That" like Dr. Dre

"It Ain't My Fault," like Silkk The Shocker say

Ya'll **** gots to pay, shots'll spray

From the Bronx to Far Rockaway

My whole team, strapped like Bokeem

Fuck bein' in jail, trapped wit' no cream

I be the don that's known to have the style sewn

More cheese than calzones, give chicks the dial tone

Build like brownstones when we slaughter your plan

Touch albums, so hot comes wit' a portable fan

Type to starve the mic when I hog the light

Lay my life on the line if the odds is right

Get in the spot and gleam

While you plot and scheme to stop the team

Three words, ****: "watch and dream"

You just mad, hater, 'cause we movin' wit' dough

You don't make no sense, like wearin' suede shoes in the snow

Finesse frontin'? Y'all know me, I don't stress nothin'

Bought your album, that's how I broke the Eject button

Don't stress dudes, we just plot our next move

Make **** look stupid, like jogging pants wit' dress shoes

The prophet, shit John Blaze like the Tropics

Type of **** need a ab roller just for my pockets

Don't flex punks, we sex stunts, collect lumps

You're flossin' now, you'll be pardoned by next month

Type of thug – yo, I was born to bug

Waitin' for us to fall – ****, join the club, what