作词 : Havoc/Prodigy
作曲 : Felonboy
I'm my mother's first born, spawn to cause havoc
Since a little nigga, I was drawn to automatics
Buck me outta loot so the opposite will banish
Scatter off the block guns hit them in the grasses
Asses to asses, tell me where the racks is
Burn this ****er down, and little kids playing with matches
With a mattress, we don't mean no harm, it's our wrists
Let's touch it like a mother, so just tell us where it is
Niggas got to eat, point blank, period
If we kill, you can't take it with you, it's nothing serious
This is H, if you looking for him, nigga here he is
I don't run from drama, I run to it
Oh ya niggas wanna dance? I run to it
Gun to it, nigga on the floor
Like a tree when it's sub
it
Did that, y'all niggas over let us do it, again
And again
Give you more for what you bargin' for
Crack these nigga's ass like a hardwood floor
***** can't tell me shit, but on all fours
Niggas know what it is, it's that uncut raw
I'm raw
Okay, now 2013, nothing changed but the clothes fit
Grown man shit, niggas trying to **** my old *****
The coldest flow in hip-hop, Mobb Deep got it
Throw me on a Havoc beat, and I will teach
You just speak valiant, you not a threat
To the safety of H and P make that a bet
We out in war soar,
Quebec
It's just a slight delay, cause
on my dick
Made me have to **** you up and sit back down
For another few years, y'all niggas is clowns
It's the one and only Infamous notorious
Gang from New York that last for so long
It's not even making no sense
Perpetual burns, these new rappers upset
They can't get it turning
When they do get a second of fame
It happens so fast, you can't even remember their names, **** 'em
R-A-W, I'm not a terrorist, but here to bring trouble to
Anybody who thinking it's sweet, you get your sweet tooth
Pulled the **** out, the fear you see through
Racks in little brown paper bags like I'm eating chips
Straight gun talk, nigga I don't even riff
Shooters on deck, niggas that you see me with
Show you better than I can tell you, best believe it kid
Outside of hip-hop, they not no monsters
They lying to their fans, faking like they mobsters
There's only one M-O-double B
Cut the shit, you don't want this trouble, G
We the ultimate 16-bar machine
Get your dummy ass dead
Get your bummy ass fed
To the vouchers, we mother****in' hungry, yo
I know you pray we stop, but we ain't done with you
