Lyrics:

[skit][Busta Rhymes]yo, it all began like, bust itMy nigga City bout to bounce on a tripWe met some niggas with alot of things they want em to flipI told my nigga get the dough and keep the blau on your hipTravel safe, you know that I'ma hold it down on the stripGood lookin, word to mother son I give you my witBut when I get back, I'ma bounce straight to your cribOn the strength, son slid until you to the GreyhoundWit a burner in the knapsack, headed straight outta townNow, three days pass I'm still on the stripDoin hand to hand with twelve collapsible, stashable clipsWith little magnets on the side of the clips we planted like a projectWhen police come we stick the clips in any metal objectThrowin a nigga on the walls and try to search me downI laugh knowin that my stash'll never be foundWell anyway, on the third day, son came straight to the stripWit a new floss and shiny shoes on the whipMy nigga hit me with the latest, greatestHe told me get inside the whip so I can know just what the up to date isHe said he fuckin wit some Guyanese niggas how ill them niggas isWhat kind of dough they get, and how they handle they bizHow they connect with Jamaician niggas who speak AmericanAnd how they chains swung a medallion iced out pelicansAnd how they stay wit four poundersAnd speak American to try to blend inLike they aint obvious out of townersOkay, I've never heard of workers gettin five G's payFor trips that last for only 2-3 dayHow these Guyanese niggas be eatin pasta but they love zucchiniRockin valor tennis suits by Sergio TecchiniThem type of cats that call you because you can't call 'emRockin baseball fitters with wild animal skins