Fuck this motherfucker, he just got love, you know what I mean?

Because we got to get out here, ain't no place here for us

You know what I mean? But that motherfucker, I need to kill him, that's all

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur— mur—

Murder

I'm still Pimp C, bitch, so what the fuck is up?

Puttin' powder on the streets 'cause I got big fuckin' nuts

Comin' back from Louisiana in a Fleetwood 'Lac

I just served them **** some shit to put they fiends on they back

Got the pounds going for four 'cause you know I just paid two

**** bought thirty from me, so I fronted forty-two

He gon' pop for seven hundred times sixty-two

Twenty-four eight is what I get, so ****, fuck what you do

If I told ya cocaine numbers, you would think I was lyin'

Young-ass ****, twenty-two, is talkin' 'bout they retirin'

In the game, ain't a thang, comin' foreign with Benz

Brick-ass home, two apartments where I entertain friends

More bounce to the ounce 'cause the Brougham the shit

I done got me fifty ounces out a bird in this bitch

Tighten up, no slack, bitches checkin' my stock

Got some birds I sell to ****, some I go rock for rock

Just got back from California, kicked it with B-Legit

Put me down with purple chronic and that hurricane shit

At the studio with Tone, man, I wish I could stay

I got to holla at Master P 'cause we got money to make

And when playas from the South stack G's, man

Like Ball, I gotta stack big cheese, man

Bitch say he want a show, you got nine grand?

I ain't rappin' shit until my money in my hand

South Texas, motherfucker, that's where I stay

Gettin' money from your bitches every goddamn day

Big paper, I'm foldin' (Foldin')

Hoes is on my motherfuckin' jock for all this dick that I be holdin'

I hate clone men, show it

Especially them fools that take our style and act like my **** don't know it

Kick it with the trill ****, so you best not trip

If ya keep on poppin' shit, my ****, empty the clip, ho-ass ****

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur— mur—

Murder

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur— mur—

Murder

Well, it's Bun B, bitch, and I'm the king of movin' chickens

Not them finger-lickings, stickin' **** that be trickin'

You need a swift kickin', your ass is ripe for the pickin'

Now as my pockets thicken, I'm deep-thinkin', nickel-slickin'

You sick when I be clickin', now take a look at the bigger ****

Malt liquor swigger, player hater ditch digger

Figure my hair trigger give a hot one in your liver

You shiver, shake, and quiver

I'm frivolous if a **** get wetter than a river

For what it's worth, it's the birth of some **** doin' dirt

Fuck her first night, take off the skirt, make her pussy hurt

Mister Master, hit the Swisha faster

Than you fever blistered bastards, fucked your sister, passed her

Fifty elbows for sale, yo

Brother better have my mail, ho

'Fore I catch a murder case and go to jail, oh

Hell no, time to bail, hit the trail so

We can sell more fuckin' yayo, get the scale, no

Other bullet duckers can shove us out of this game

They better buck us, 'cause the cluckers, they love us

Make them glass dick suckers shake they jelly like Smucker's

I hit like nunchakus, 'cause Short Texas bring the ruckus

This for my motherfuckers, cookin' cheese to crooked Gs

Rockin' up quarter keys to get the hook with ease

Wanna-bes get on your knees, feel the squeeze from them HK13s

From here to overseas, we do what we please

Don't trip 'cause we flip, light up a dip

I'm breakin' 'em off from they hip to your lip

Go ask that boy Skip, that **** Bun rip

With one clip, soon as the gun slip

Now I done whipped out my Barrelli, flyin' through your Pelle Pelle

And some smelly red jelly is drippin' out of ya belly

Served 'em up like a deli, jumped on my cellular tele'

Ho, sell it like it's goin' out of style

You can't see me, Marcus

So have a motherfuckin' Sweet and a smile

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur—

Murder, mur— mur—

Murder