Lyrics:

Ruff Ryder 3!
Time for the younger generation to blow
You know I brought my nigga with me
D-Block!

Hey yo, it's Jae Hood, bitch, respect my bars
The doctors had to piece together your face like a collage
Niggas always talk breezy, 'til the steel come out
And slugs rip through their gums and their grill come out
Motherfuck you and fuck your mans
If I don't clap you in the dome, I'ma leave clips in your diaphragm
I'm the hood prophet, puff purple instead of chocolate
Stay from around chumps and cowards, 'cause they gossip
And I'ma stay on the corner, like stop signs
With a pack of them creamy colored rocks and the Glock nine
When you speaking of the hardest nigga – bring Hood's name up
D-Block, bitch, we about to have the game chained up
My words too strong, bars too powerful
And your towel can't dry you when the dumdums shower you
You're mad because you're garbage and your lyrics is boring
And your whip was made that same year you was born in

Listen, man – don't worry how many gats this crook has
Just know I stay strapped like book bags
Bitch is shook ass – you just getting off your porch
And me? I'm just getting off in court
I could make sure your coffin bought
Why would you mention a burner?
There is a difference between rapping and attempting to murder
Talking the shit you living and talking the shit you heard of
You said fuck Larceny?
What is you crazy, bitch?
Before you walk the streets, here's a few safety tips
Watch who you speaking 'bout, and watch who you speaking to
The cats you speaking 'bout, could show you what the heat could do
A respirator is what you'll be breathing through
And you got beef with who that you need toast?
The closest you came to beef was meat loaf
When we pose with bats and peacoats, y'all niggas better be close

To fuck with Keem, y'all bitches better hope and dream
Every gun that I own got a scope and beam
When I approach the scene, shake the dice, rook the team
Best bitch on the East Coast since Queen–
Latifah, buy reefer, fly diva
Ride deeper, four pound bump louder than five speaker
Spit fire, hot lava flow
Don't get it twisted, I'm not one of them Prada ho's
Catch me in Escada clothes, with a lot of dough
That's not mine, it's his
I need a lot more to live
You got to get the king before the kid
How you think a bitch like me afford to live, motherfucker?

That's a bad bitch
Shiz, you a bad ass nigga
It's the younger generation, killing y'all
Lotto, get busy on these niggas

Hey, look, I'm trying to sell mad gravy
So I get birds from my crew and make Erykah Badu my 'Bag Lady'
You that crazy? Squeeze, I know you ain't spitting shells
Your hand shake so much it shows up on the Richter scale
I made the huskiest niggas look like they had sickle cell
I don't just sell bricks – dog, I got a bitch for sale
So let me find the nigga that hating Lott
No coffin, he get buried in the refrigerator box
Goddamn, I'm a hot man
I'm telling you straight up, I got my weight up, Jacob
Call my wrists Roxanne
'Cause if I wore it in a dark room
You and your man would hate it, I'ma look animated like a cartoon
Bottom line, I'm telling you that you ain't fucking with me
Hard, no bodyguards – you want a shot? Come and get me
I'm not a sucker, nor is any nigga running with me
And why are y'all balling with wheels if they under 50?
Nigga

Lock and block's the motto
Got more slow than 'Dr. Zhivago'
Same mind state that makes a poem rock in Chicago
But I don't get my gangster from movies
I'm a rock star, 5 star tellys, running with gangsters and groupies
Come through and leave her voice sick
'Cause my F-Type steers with a joystick
I'm the heart in my era
Listen, I lead an artistic life
Paint pictures with my actions, ain't no margin for error
My innate features, leave niggas dismayed, speechless
And please don't mistake weakness for kindness
I fuck with old timers
So don't make me forget that you real and catch Alzheimer's
Motherfucking hoes – never, I spoil them
Remember, I'm known to break a bitch for reckless eyeballing
The top dog, nigga, I'm the bare truth
You want to get math? Nigga I'm the square root
The Roc Star

I got mean stash
You seen Cass get his thug on
Strip my bitch, we kiss and get our hug on
She what I put drugs on and get my grub on
And, dog, when you park your car, put your club on
The next cat I put the snub on
I'ma clap the gat 'til it get too hot, and that's with gloves on
Y'all love drawing, you should go to an art school
I get my club on with the glow-in-the-dark jewels
Trees in my shoes, Polo in the dark blues
And I spark tools that the po' and the narcs use
Fuckers, y'all stupid or something –
What's the point in pulling out your joint if you ain't shootin' at nothing?
Dude, fronting will get you banged in the face
If you have braces, then you know how the banger will taste
I'm near anything pertaining to cake
And just copped the blue lighting with the rectangular face
Easy

Easy, niggas
Matter of fact – fuck that, go hard
Cass, show these niggas how you built
Grab your guns and bust off, my nigga!

Yeah, it's Cassidy, bitch – get the name clear
I'm what you lames fear, got the game scared
Buy 'caine by the square, sell it by the O
I run through snow like a reindeer
The cool kid, got the coke heads' nose red like Rudolf
I grind on the strip so hard I got blue balls
I'd rather knock a Q off then get blew off
That's how I stay on my toes, like my shoes off
You dudes are soft, really bitches like Ru Paul
When's it's war, I move out like U-Hauls
I'm a true boss
I send eightballs to the corner, my strip like a pool hall
And I ball like I been in the sport
My trigger finger itching like it got genital warts
Don't play around with him, boy (Why's that?)
'Cause Cass is a pain in the ass, like hemorrhoids
Faggot!