Young **** talking spicy, old **** wanna slight me. Ain't even worse, my ex-chick is trying to spite me.

 Women want control, accountability, unlikely. But then again, she gotta have it, no Spike Lee.

 The streets smoking mirrors for show, they tore us two up, don't fold. Addle for doors, aya for door.

 And if a **** wanna try, I'm lifting the spirit. To the men up above, all my killers, they fearless.

 You can bet your last little measly dollar and watch me and mine come up off this curb long as the fiends holler.

 Walk to that pot of gold and green prodders for your fly stoner. Slash Brooklyn tough as Don Dada.

 This new yiddy, the city of guns, they make sure that score is settled, let's even the odds.

 A gangster really ever seen, my presence is felt. I'm brushed to dust, I'm locked with guns, they fresh with the show.

 Keeping Remo happy with money was the greatest insurance policy in the world.