[T.I.]
Ha, Mannie Fresh, I got you, nigga
I'm gonna show these niggaz what to do with one of your beats
I'm shuttin' the whole block down
Here comes trouble, homey
I'm a tell you how the king like to ride, homeboy

[Chorus x 2]
I like my beat down low and my top let back
Can see me ridin' twenty-fours with a chopper in the back
Ya like ya Kenwood hot and ya top let back
If ya rims sit high and ya windows pitch black

[Verse 1]
I'm the man in my city, ain't nobody fuckin' wit' me
You can ask the real niggaz and all the bad bitches
I'm a known drug dealer; I always have fifties
And the thugs and the killers was all in class wit' me
SS's on twenty-sixes, watchin' some television
Shorty, I'm never slippin', got the berretta in vision
And ready to pop the clip in, ready to get to trippin'
Ready to show these folks a celebrity pistol whippin'
Pimp stolen' the automobile, and the roof for the tag missin'
Polices try to pursue me; it's nothin' but gas-given
Addicted to fast livin', yes, I'm one of my dad's children
Think I'm bad now, you should a seen me before I had children
Give dick to ya daddy's daughter and they oughta have children
Hope he got some insurance 'cause I definitely have some endurance
Kill her in Mississippi and drive her ass to Missouri
Still my wet pet drippin' while I'm woodgrain grippin'

[Chorus x 2]

[Verse 2]
I got this Pimp Squad Click; I know you heard about us
Young niggaz filthy rich, and we ain't worried 'bout much
On this glock I clutch
In God I trust
If a punk nigga start, bet his heart I bust
Got ya partners and the broad in ya car fucked up
What ya under estimation thought a star wouldn't bust
I got the heart and the guts on this perp I blow
Move ten bricks daily, tryin' to twerk five mo'
Ya see the Cadillac swervin' down Hollywood Road
On the flyest bird in Cali, fuckin' Hollywood hos
On a pill and half with my partner Young Dro Dro
Bumpin' Goodie Mob Soul Food number fo'
Other rappers', old dudes, told dudes I'm a pro
With a loaded fo' fo' and a quarter brick of blow
(Hey), nigga, don't you hit me 'less you buyin' six or mo'
My twenty-four blades glistenin', and my 808 kickin'

[Chorus x 2]

[Verse 3]
I wear the crown down under, man, somebody better tell 'em
'For I spit a hundred rounds and have everybody bailin'
I got some bitches in a Benz and my partners in the Chevy
And now we ridin' Giovanni's and Asani's on Pirellis
If ya ever think ya tryin' to run up on me, just forget it
The clip in the chopper long as ya leg and leave ya shredded
Pistol way in the truck, and my knife on tuck
Ya think he ain't gettin' stuck, you got life fucked up
A couple stiches in ya hip will have ya night fucked up
Will he live? Will he die? Guess he might luck up
Meanwhile, I'm racin' my Ferarri like a light for a buck
Against Lamborghini Gallardo everytime I get a car...

[Chorus x 2]

Writer : HARRIS, CLIFFORD / THOMAS, BYRON
Copyright : Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.