Yeah! Yeah!

Go ****, raise hell!

Yeah! Yeah!

Raise hell!

Yeah! Yeah!

Go ****, raise hell!

The new single, kid get your shit mixed

Catch this new slug from the M.O.P. hitlist

It's thorough for the cars, for the clubs, for the Jeeps

(For the fellas on the corner posted up 20 deep)

Hold it down! Home Team back out to sail this

Make 'em collapse with caps and Fame make 'em famous

The "Downtown SWinger" gun slingers rock wild

And when I die, I won't be puttin out flames in hell

Cop a 10 milli from the corner store Arab

Fools with truck jewels get stuck for they karats

Hold on you hear somebody comin, you hear somebody gunnin

Them **** that you run with is runnin

Cause it's (BULLETS OVER BROWNSVILLE!)

I'm from the place where trey-pounds and fo-pounds kill

Fool how that sound? (ILL!)

The star vendor, bend 'em like car fenders

Serve 'em like bartenders, what's next on the agenda?

Dope rap, we drop off crack, they can't stand it

When I'm {?} when only we be gettin 'em open like the 'Ville

With this fresh rush, show me on point in this game

Cause Fame plays well, and I raise well, so I raise hell!

Yeah, go ****, raise hell!

Yo, yeah, raise hell!

Go ****, raise hell!

Raise hell, it's another death wish, I guess it's time

To grip nines, to rip behind enemy lines

Where it's ruthless, and get the troopers

That think it's somethin sweet

M.O.P. **** was raised in the street, kid

Ain't nuttin changed cause I'm rappin, I am a

Ill **** and I still will bust my hammer

(Is he a gangsta?) Blaze F-A-G's I don't stress 'em

When I, catch 'em I stretch 'em I bless 'em

And let his momma dress 'em

The name's Bill, the game's real, me and Fame feel

We can blow trial, and yo I'm ill

So blaow in your face! (Bla-bla-bla-blaow) to the death

(Buka-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-KLAK) 'til there's nothin left

I ain't gon' be playin no games witchu frauds

Whenever the two guns bustin just don't be trustin this Drama Lord

(Take it to 'em son!) Yeah we got a plan, and

Billy Danze packin more steel than Bugsy Moran{?}

To the terrible organization, it's the M.O.P.'s last generation

Who wanna confrontation?

It's hammer time and I'm layin on you to see me

(Is he a tough guy?) Nah that's how they make him look on TV

Fake jerks I rattle, snake chumps I saddle

And ride they ass all the way to the bus without no truss

The Hill-top, will-rock, non-stop

Squeeze-Glocks, at the motherfuckers son

He can't run, so I ain't gotta chase him

(Do you think you can take him?)

Take him then I back him down and lace him, raise hell!

Raise hell!

Hell, hell, go **** raise hell!

Raise hell!

Go **** raise hell!