Released: August 25, 2003
Featuring: Sire Castro Jae Millz
Songwriter: Sire Castro Jae Millz
Producer: Smack White Diddy
[Verse 1: Sire Castro]
Uh-huh, yo
Yes, uh, check it, yo
Uh, check it, ayo
Ayo yo yo
Yo mad rappers wanna battle me, I blow they gon’ be mad at me
My shotgun shells the size of D batteries
I do my thing bubble grams, fuck that shit
And I bang more hammers than Judge Mathis
Sire Cash is the most shady, flow’s brazy
Chase paper like Rich Po and Azie
Run through you like the Pentagon
Cash Hoffa, I been a don
My name ring more bells than intercoms
I’m the one with the dope and one with the scope
Cross so big like I run with the pope
Tatiana that’s my daughter I raised, smoke a quarter of haze
Dog I push more water than waves
When will ya’ ass learn?
You had ya’ chance now it’s Cash turn
600 sitting on Jamal Mashburn’s
They mad I won’t stop like taxi cabs
And I get more pussy, than maxi pads
I was locked in the pens, they was actually glad
Hoping I never come home, and get back in the lab
Let me tell you what I’ma do
I’ma hit him with, 41 shells like Amadou
Palm the tool, rapid shots calm ya’ crew
Cash, Hoffa fool, you harming who?
Nigga, you see the charm and jewels?
You don’t want battle, skedaddle, you gonna lose
Trust me, ya’ rhymes can’t touch me
Yellow diamonds looking like a pineapple slushee
All my jewels straight 3D, ducking the state PD
Aim the heat turn ya’ brains to baked ziti
I love automatics, but I keep revolvers
For that smack fiends running back like Tiki Barber
Motherfucker
[Verse 1: Jae Millz]
Fuck is all the talk about?
When it’s war motherfucker we don’t talk it out, guns we don’t walk without
Stupid nigga how the fuck you dare call me out
You gon’ be the next nigga my fans read a story ‘bout
Look I don’t know where they found you but I will reroute you
Nigga, ain’t nothing gangster about you
Damn, now ya’ peoples is starting to doubt you
[?] pissed ‘cause he starting to see the bitch come up out you
Man, you ain’t my man just ‘cause you roll with my man, I never dapped you
So don’t make me smack you
Call me Millz-rax, the reason the world poisoned
The Yao Ming of this, lil’ nigga you Earl Boykins
This show-and-tell time stupid, bring ya’ toys in
Please don’t talk me to death, show me something
You got work, where nigga? Show me where you pumping
I think you fronting, don’t make the shottie get to dumping
‘Cause EMS’ll be coming and ya’ body’ll be what they pumping
All because you thought Millz was a onion
Chill youngun’ I been hot since Dominique was dunking
Matter fact since Spud Webb was jumping
I ain’t no newjack
I see these rats is too big for the glue trap
So I went to Vado crib and got my Uz’ back
My moms like ‘what, now you an exterminator?’
I’m like ‘nah ma, now I’m the Terminator’
No more Schwarzenegger, now it’s Schwarze-nigga
I swear to God I’ll scorch this nigga
Please, tell me who the fuck bought this nigga
Rap-wise I’ll off this nigga
Lun’, go and get a teacher, I wanna know who taught this nigga
‘Cause you’s a dumb motherfucker, ha, young motherfucker
I know where you from motherfucker, but I’m heavy in the X
I’ll get yo’ ass hung motherfucker
Look, why stress when you don’t impress me
Niggas can’t compare garbage to Gretzky
You can’t compare Penny to Mike, it’s just not right
Ya’ flow is just not tight, face it, you just not nice
You think you great, homeboy you just a’ight
Soft nigga talking all hype you just my type
This nigga talking ‘bout ‘pop off’ we just might
And I mean literally nigga we don’t just fight
Look, I wake up in the morning and throw the best of Big L mixtape on
Crack a strawberry Phillie and get my haze on
I put a hoodie and a fresh pair of fades on
Fitted, early MJ’s on
Being confused by my raps how could ya’
I’ll smack ya’, push ya’
Punk niggas like Ashton Kutcher
Get it straight I’m great you’s average nooka
Screw tryna keep up, I’m past the nooka
This nigga talking ‘bout putting up bread
And I’m like, you might as well jump off a bridge instead
Or try to stop a fucking Amtrak wit’ ya’ head
‘Cause I’m like a barbarian, in every bar I’m burying
Winning is what I’m destined to do
I can’t lose like the Dolphins in ‘72
I flow sickening, the booth might inherit the flu
You better than who?
[Verse 2: Sire Castro]
I spit shit that keep ya’ heads bopping
Brim street, red’s popping
40 cal hollow lead’s popping
Five alive so you know I had to drop the six
Rocked-up wrist, popping Cris’
I don’t care about ya’ third-degree crimes, and ya’ nursery rhymes
Everything you spit I heard it three times
I’m all good long as I’m in the hood serving ‘em dimes
Crime family motherfucker, I’ll murder for mines
Did a short stretch, fresh out the box
Time to step up a notch
Mini-scopes on the Heckler & Koch
Got the baddest bitch pecking my crotch
‘Cause she seen the gleam
Quarter-karats on my necklace and watch
Everybody in the streets, know I’m brazy and hard
Like who’s the best emcee? Biggie, Jay-Z, Sharod
Cristal bottle message, stones in my Chopard
I’m up stacks and I bone, model hoes who rock [?]
Nuttin’ but hits, fuck it’s the Cris’
You think I’m suicidal when you see all the cuts in my wrist
Bitch please if you felt my arm, you would freeze
Cash man push keys like, Elton John
Just look at my bezel charm
If I was on the radio, bet you Flex drop several bombs
I’m the next best thing to come out, time for them flames to come out
Strawberry-red Range to come out
Nigga y’all could catch me blowing the [?]
Holding the llama, pop niggas, get low like Osama
I mix the wool with the purple
The Bronx ain’t sweet, catch you in the wrong hood we will merc’ you
600 coupe drop the hood doing circles
Late-night flow got parolees breaking curfews
Time for Cash to get back on the scene
Stacking the cream everywhere I go I’m packing the steam
[Verse 2: Jae Millz]
And yo my words is way deeper than bars now
I’m spitting art now, this nigga had a chance but the sky getting dark now
Ain’t know the game at first but ya’ boy is smart now
So this lame nigga best to get up on his job now
It’s Harlem’s own prob child
Roll around blowing mob style, pumping that old Mob Style
Yeah this is that gangster shit
So come out ya’ face and I’ll rearrange ya’ shit
I ain’t the one, and for two, you don’t want three of my niggas to run up on you with fo’s while you in that five
‘Cause you would get about six or seven so I advise you to get to stepping, motherfucker
‘Cause when my boys reach to get they Wesson, you still gotta run and get ya’ weapon, motherfucker
I’m too serious at this profession so pretty boy you better stick to dressing
While this nigga was out chasing bitches, down at the car show
I was out shopping, putting on a card show
Mastercard, Visa, American Express
Oh yes, trust me this veteran is fresh
Everything plush from my leathers and my sweats
Pop tags every day, yeah I dress to impress
Bitch nigga you should dress in a dress
Nigga we in the [?], fuck a Rolex with baguettes
This nigga get a check and wanna run and get a watch
Puff, when I get a check, I’m tryna run to the lot
And debate with Dre on which V should I cop
Like, should I go midnight or dark apricot?
Akh I’m too hot, this nigga cold as ice
I’m sick wit’ it, he ain’t even close to nice
I shake up, roll the dice
Eights for a G, like fuck it, bet it back nigga
Matter fact add another G to that nigga
Double it up, it’s a thousand to you but to me it’s a couple of bucks
Ayo Big am I trouble or what?
I swear they ain’t never hear a artist with such colorful touch
Uh-huh, yo
Yes, uh, check it, yo
Uh, check it, ayo
Ayo yo yo
Yo mad rappers wanna battle me, I blow they gon’ be mad at me
My shotgun shells the size of D batteries
I do my thing bubble grams, fuck that shit
And I bang more hammers than Judge Mathis
Sire Cash is the most shady, flow’s brazy
Chase paper like Rich Po and Azie
Run through you like the Pentagon
Cash Hoffa, I been a don
My name ring more bells than intercoms
I’m the one with the dope and one with the scope
Cross so big like I run with the pope
Tatiana that’s my daughter I raised, smoke a quarter of haze
Dog I push more water than waves
When will ya’ ass learn?
You had ya’ chance now it’s Cash turn
600 sitting on Jamal Mashburn’s
They mad I won’t stop like taxi cabs
And I get more pussy, than maxi pads
I was locked in the pens, they was actually glad
Hoping I never come home, and get back in the lab
Let me tell you what I’ma do
I’ma hit him with, 41 shells like Amadou
Palm the tool, rapid shots calm ya’ crew
Cash, Hoffa fool, you harming who?
Nigga, you see the charm and jewels?
You don’t want battle, skedaddle, you gonna lose
Trust me, ya’ rhymes can’t touch me
Yellow diamonds looking like a pineapple slushee
All my jewels straight 3D, ducking the state PD
Aim the heat turn ya’ brains to baked ziti
I love automatics, but I keep revolvers
For that smack fiends running back like Tiki Barber
Motherfucker
[Verse 1: Jae Millz]
Fuck is all the talk about?
When it’s war motherfucker we don’t talk it out, guns we don’t walk without
Stupid nigga how the fuck you dare call me out
You gon’ be the next nigga my fans read a story ‘bout
Look I don’t know where they found you but I will reroute you
Nigga, ain’t nothing gangster about you
Damn, now ya’ peoples is starting to doubt you
[?] pissed ‘cause he starting to see the bitch come up out you
Man, you ain’t my man just ‘cause you roll with my man, I never dapped you
So don’t make me smack you
Call me Millz-rax, the reason the world poisoned
The Yao Ming of this, lil’ nigga you Earl Boykins
This show-and-tell time stupid, bring ya’ toys in
Please don’t talk me to death, show me something
You got work, where nigga? Show me where you pumping
I think you fronting, don’t make the shottie get to dumping
‘Cause EMS’ll be coming and ya’ body’ll be what they pumping
All because you thought Millz was a onion
Chill youngun’ I been hot since Dominique was dunking
Matter fact since Spud Webb was jumping
I ain’t no newjack
I see these rats is too big for the glue trap
So I went to Vado crib and got my Uz’ back
My moms like ‘what, now you an exterminator?’
I’m like ‘nah ma, now I’m the Terminator’
No more Schwarzenegger, now it’s Schwarze-nigga
I swear to God I’ll scorch this nigga
Please, tell me who the fuck bought this nigga
Rap-wise I’ll off this nigga
Lun’, go and get a teacher, I wanna know who taught this nigga
‘Cause you’s a dumb motherfucker, ha, young motherfucker
I know where you from motherfucker, but I’m heavy in the X
I’ll get yo’ ass hung motherfucker
Look, why stress when you don’t impress me
Niggas can’t compare garbage to Gretzky
You can’t compare Penny to Mike, it’s just not right
Ya’ flow is just not tight, face it, you just not nice
You think you great, homeboy you just a’ight
Soft nigga talking all hype you just my type
This nigga talking ‘bout ‘pop off’ we just might
And I mean literally nigga we don’t just fight
Look, I wake up in the morning and throw the best of Big L mixtape on
Crack a strawberry Phillie and get my haze on
I put a hoodie and a fresh pair of fades on
Fitted, early MJ’s on
Being confused by my raps how could ya’
I’ll smack ya’, push ya’
Punk niggas like Ashton Kutcher
Get it straight I’m great you’s average nooka
Screw tryna keep up, I’m past the nooka
This nigga talking ‘bout putting up bread
And I’m like, you might as well jump off a bridge instead
Or try to stop a fucking Amtrak wit’ ya’ head
‘Cause I’m like a barbarian, in every bar I’m burying
Winning is what I’m destined to do
I can’t lose like the Dolphins in ‘72
I flow sickening, the booth might inherit the flu
You better than who?
[Verse 2: Sire Castro]
I spit shit that keep ya’ heads bopping
Brim street, red’s popping
40 cal hollow lead’s popping
Five alive so you know I had to drop the six
Rocked-up wrist, popping Cris’
I don’t care about ya’ third-degree crimes, and ya’ nursery rhymes
Everything you spit I heard it three times
I’m all good long as I’m in the hood serving ‘em dimes
Crime family motherfucker, I’ll murder for mines
Did a short stretch, fresh out the box
Time to step up a notch
Mini-scopes on the Heckler & Koch
Got the baddest bitch pecking my crotch
‘Cause she seen the gleam
Quarter-karats on my necklace and watch
Everybody in the streets, know I’m brazy and hard
Like who’s the best emcee? Biggie, Jay-Z, Sharod
Cristal bottle message, stones in my Chopard
I’m up stacks and I bone, model hoes who rock [?]
Nuttin’ but hits, fuck it’s the Cris’
You think I’m suicidal when you see all the cuts in my wrist
Bitch please if you felt my arm, you would freeze
Cash man push keys like, Elton John
Just look at my bezel charm
If I was on the radio, bet you Flex drop several bombs
I’m the next best thing to come out, time for them flames to come out
Strawberry-red Range to come out
Nigga y’all could catch me blowing the [?]
Holding the llama, pop niggas, get low like Osama
I mix the wool with the purple
The Bronx ain’t sweet, catch you in the wrong hood we will merc’ you
600 coupe drop the hood doing circles
Late-night flow got parolees breaking curfews
Time for Cash to get back on the scene
Stacking the cream everywhere I go I’m packing the steam
[Verse 2: Jae Millz]
And yo my words is way deeper than bars now
I’m spitting art now, this nigga had a chance but the sky getting dark now
Ain’t know the game at first but ya’ boy is smart now
So this lame nigga best to get up on his job now
It’s Harlem’s own prob child
Roll around blowing mob style, pumping that old Mob Style
Yeah this is that gangster shit
So come out ya’ face and I’ll rearrange ya’ shit
I ain’t the one, and for two, you don’t want three of my niggas to run up on you with fo’s while you in that five
‘Cause you would get about six or seven so I advise you to get to stepping, motherfucker
‘Cause when my boys reach to get they Wesson, you still gotta run and get ya’ weapon, motherfucker
I’m too serious at this profession so pretty boy you better stick to dressing
While this nigga was out chasing bitches, down at the car show
I was out shopping, putting on a card show
Mastercard, Visa, American Express
Oh yes, trust me this veteran is fresh
Everything plush from my leathers and my sweats
Pop tags every day, yeah I dress to impress
Bitch nigga you should dress in a dress
Nigga we in the [?], fuck a Rolex with baguettes
This nigga get a check and wanna run and get a watch
Puff, when I get a check, I’m tryna run to the lot
And debate with Dre on which V should I cop
Like, should I go midnight or dark apricot?
Akh I’m too hot, this nigga cold as ice
I’m sick wit’ it, he ain’t even close to nice
I shake up, roll the dice
Eights for a G, like fuck it, bet it back nigga
Matter fact add another G to that nigga
Double it up, it’s a thousand to you but to me it’s a couple of bucks
Ayo Big am I trouble or what?
I swear they ain’t never hear a artist with such colorful touch
From the album
- SMACK DVD 3 (2003)