Grime

[Intro: Fatt Father, Guilty Simpson]

Killas, yeah! Y'all done fucked up now

That's right, I don't even know why I'm on this track

I called up some of my big homies

And we gonna ride on you bitch-made ass, playa-hatin' ass niggas

And we ain't even players, we're coaches, bitch! (Straight from the sewers of detroit, y'all!)

Coaches... (Simpson, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em...)

We tell you what to do! (Yo!)

Get on the field nigga! Run, RUN!

[Verse 1: Guilty Simpson]

The Grim Reaper's godson, I disarm you with that shotgun

And pop one, you're harmless, and now armless

I follow these rap artists, and drop my targets in Target

More cans than a supermarket

Paper or plastic, watch 'em fade away when I blast it

I'm a kush hit, from starting war on some Bush shit

I make up beef and break up teeth

And charge cats to rebuild that made up-street

There's not one too big for caskets

I'm a walking hazard, I'm a straight up beast!

I make a motherfucker wake up sleep!

Warrior mode, I'm letting all you foreigners fold

I shut it down like I'm border control

Learn about it, before you get murdered 'bout it

You don't have to choose 'cause I kill you with the fork in the road

Motherfuckers!

[Verse 2: Fatt Father]

Guns like Yosemite, funds like Joe Kennedy

The belly of the beast, taking Tums won't do diddly, so

Fuck an athletic ability, I'm gaining weight

And losing it in 24 hours trying to stay in shape

Hustle with amazing grace but I ain't been to church in ages

You go to Dunham's for bats, I go to purchase gauges

The next time it's a wrap, you under dirt and pavement

No body, no need to make arrangements

Dangerous, the niggas I call broke and home team

Sanctioned by the gutter but anxious to do their own things

Along came a rider that sat down besides green

And told that bitch to listen, "now, you just a team in my league,"

You only getting high if you rolling up my weed

And she ain't said "Hi" unless she been fucked by me! (Bitch!)

Try me, I'm running through them like I'm in the IV

I should've been a car because the Motor City designed me, bitch!

[Bridge]

It ain't over, n'aw it ain't over

See we're gonna take the show on the road

We're going to New York

So my niggas Sean P. and Roc Marciano can show you how they get down!

[Verse 3: Sean Price]

Phantom of the opera, a cannon that'll pop ya

A tree hugging bitch sending damage to your chakra

The AK'll chop ya, what I cop the machete for?

Swing, leave you punch drunk lookin' for Betty Ford

Back smack niggas, my Gat clap niggas

Dude you food for fat rap niggas, Sean P

I be holdin' it down, notice the style

Gettin' bigger since a nigga started eatin Golden Corral! (Psh!)

2Pac who? 2Pac me? Shit, the tool pop you, now who got D? (Juice!)

No Omar Epps, orangutan gang bang with the crowbar, yep!

Sean Price, I'm a grown ass man

Fuck a fist fight I grip the fifth tight and let the chrome blast fam!

Listen, I got my shit in order fengshui, but a nigga still wreck the buffet

Shut the fuck up, P!

[Verse 4: Roc Marciano]

Cool capers, that made the papers

Escape with glaciers, jake chase us, evasive

Scarface is aces, shake them agents

Bang the gauges on the cages

Slang in front of bodegas with gangstas

Tie fly shoelaces, pursuin greatness

Embrace this, your crew is chew like tubesteakers

A gang of big faces and suitcases, tenacious

My wave game is like an oasis your flow is basic

You blow haters get faded, you physically [brainless?], spray the stainless

This ain't entertainment this how we pay rent

Then jump in that grey Benz, like a young Jay Prince, you content

My skin is radiant, rhymes is evil like Damien

Hard body flesh is titanium, you about as solid as baby shit

My spit leave your lady bewitched, to keep the chrome 380 to babysit

When you pay me with chips that's short like the Haiti kid

Motherfucker! Marc nigga

Rock your mother fucking knot, boy!