Lyrics: Buddha Monk. Zu Chronicles 6: King Monk. Gun Them Down.

[Chorus: Buddha Monk]
If you got no care for this, I'm gon' gun them, straight gun' him
Think about it all the time, makes me wanna, straight slug him

[Buddha Monk:]
Shit it ain't my fault you labels missed out on this
I was at the tunnel with you getting drunk and pissed
You looking at them superstars who make the Billboard charts?
MTV, 106, and Uncut After Dark
But a nigga like me low key for the 2-3
Said it with times to set off a new give me
It's a shame that you think that you hotter than me
How's that? When you haven't even heard from me?
Yo, I murder earlier Gods and I murder all of ya'll
With simple short flows, just to keep you on your toes
Left cut, kidney blows and elbow throws
If that's not enough, buckshots to your souls
Don't tempt my temptation, or one God under nation
What makes one Satan, is ya'll misbehaving
A knick knack pack a gat, give a nigga God
He's WB11 when I pulled off his charm, believe it

[Chorus x2: w/ ad-libs]

[Popa Chief:]
Fuck the jump off, here's the kick off, the tip off
Half of thug raps is rip offs
Another textbook caper pulled off, mad bodies hauled off
And I ain't even brandish the sawed off
I blew like a Molotov cocktail, allergic to handcuffs
And jail cells, turn the heat up to hell
Final prosper, it's gonna be problems
If we can't talk about it, slump 'em, fuck 'em
Girls if you ain't knowing, I'm a cutter, lay pipe, like a plumber
Give it up for the funky drummer
Met all my niggas in the gutter, rap's my bread and butter
Buy this, cause I owe all my baby mothers
I'm waiting on the perfect pitch, ready to swing
I dedicate this to my favorite bitch Mary Jane
The gloves are off, no love is lost
I do a one hand Superman sea grab, like triple X I blow ya head off

[Chorus x2: w/ ad-libs]

[Buddha Monk:]
I ain't sign the dotted line for ya'll to understand me
I signed the dotted line to help feed my seed
And any cat try to stand in the way of me
Guaranteed desert eagle, nigga, cook ya meat
And your dudes is weak, you speak like you got plenty heat
But when it's beef, you rush to your man for the heat
Now shame on a nigga who try to run game on this nigga
D.O.A. when E.M.S. comes to get ya
You can call your mans, and this my number, kill even better man
Divide's eight hundred ways to kill any man
Whether at a show, or on the floor for disco
I hold the yellow brick road to the land of death row
So you can keep yapping ya mouth, but I have
I have something that'll tic tac in ya mouth
And leave your girl a only spouse
And I ain't telling you what's the real plan in this rap game
I'm a leave ya'll wondering how I took over this rap game, man

[Chorus x4: w/ ad-libs]