Money, Power, Respect Freestyle

[Verse 1: Fabolous]

They call me F-A-Beezy, sometimes Stizzo

The wrist on freezy, neck on glizzo

The coupe move easy at two-double-izzo

Truck look cheezy [?]

And it's jacked up like it sit on stilettos

Can't you see the glit' on the pebbles that sit on the bezel

None of you little scraps couldn't get on my level

Take more than a hot song to try to sit on the devil

Got respect when I killed "Money, Power" the first time

When they tried to knock down the towers the first time

And the only reason I'm talking 'bout it

Is so you know the real talk of New York's about it

I'm with a bitch, with a tight ass that shakes

Her suck game will one gulp: White Castle shakes

Got the home right past the lake

When I came home they stop us, this time might blast the jake

I'm the nigga on the couches in clubs

And I stand out from the rest of the slouchers and scrubs

Bottles and bottles with a train of pretty hoes

That look like they could be the mains in videos

We in the caps with the Yankee logos

Blowing on the stanky dro dro, the pinky snow-globe

And you know the link be so "oh"

Niggas look fast but the blinks be slow-mo

I could spot a kinky ho though

All hood bitch, she just tryna make you think she SoHo

Plus I know the game like the back of my hand

When I'm lazy, you can catch me in the back of sedans

When I'm gone, you can bet I'm coming back with a tan

With the Mickey D signs on the back of my pants

And I act like the man, 'cause this my time

Plus the hood say they miss my dimes, it's young money

[Verse 2: Ransom]

All you see me with is Coogi, dogs and long chains

Fucking with some bougie broads with long brain

Plus now I'm usually calm, the storm came

But still keep a toolie on like John Wayne

Catch me in the kitchen, dope bricks on the fire

Them niggas that be spittin, those pricks is some liars

Never been pitchin, sold clips to them buyers

Me? I hang on the block like broke kicks on the wire

The kid is so nasty with it

Copped a new Benz and only paid half to get it

I'm a gorilla that had to get classy with it

Your dumb bird gave me head because Fab was with us

Could care less who your bitch be feeling

I'm in a loft with nice floors and crispy ceiling

As long as I get it off and get these millions

I retire to smoke weed like Ricky Williams

[Verse 3: Hitchcock]

Now your cake is gone, niggas wanna hate the Storm

Cause they know my team reign surpreme, and I'm Jason Bourne

Catch a case Im gone, just another face to mourn

Stay down 'fore the tre-pound leave your face deformed

Listen pal, you ain't really pitching vials

Just wanna rap back and forth like 'Kiss and Styles

Every other day, you could say I be switching dials

Fourty-grand, fifty-thou, and I got the fifty-cal

It's Hitchcock, Hannibal of rap

You ain't gotta see a show to see an animal attack

Im an animal a warrior in fact

With tre snubs, repping A-dub in the corner with gats

And Im in a fast car, with a crash bar

Built in the dash part sorta like Nascar

Outlast yall because I treat the track like a cell phone

I burn it down to the last bar

[Verse 4: Stack Bundles]

You're welcome

You ain't gotta thank me for what i did to the mixtapes

Make sure the labels get my shit straight

You ain't gotta pat me on the back (back!)

Just pack me in that 'Bach ('Bach!)

With a dime, fine wine and some blinds in the back

Curtains is too extra

Though the silk shirt's fucking with my chest hairs

I'm in love with the texture

The gorgeous one has spoken, clear stones in his hair

Pink in his eyes like Jesus has awoken

It's all in the belt buckle, a mansion in that

And if you call shorty, buckle, just imagine the neck

And the trousers Mugler, the shoes is Maury

These rap niggas startin to bore me

Most MCs square, so the button-up's MC squared

I'm insulted when they offer me ears

The babes want me in [?]

And you know the boys want me in states

I'm retiring pyrex - call me Seymour Cake!

[Verse 5: Joe Budden]

Now niggas say they in the hood like Mister Softee

They in the hood getting treated like Mister Softie

“I clap the four-fifth”, if you believe that

Then you believe Rick James died of natural causes

I'm twisting up trees-chronic to switching up ebonics

Started in the fifth grade, switching up etonics

Know a few dudes that'll spit at your dome

So go see 'em if you really want invisible stones

Try and get at me to hit him

Just type forty acres and a mule in your navi system

My hood—they kidnapping your kids

See, we try and Tom Cruise and Jamie what collateral is

Whack dudes in the game is a problem

But they like Maurice Malone jeans, their name will stay on the bottom

Murdering that? Nah, heard him, he's sub-par

Coyote Ugly rappers, keep working at your bars

[Verse 6: Paul Cain]

Cain got the heart of a soldier, mind of a general

Strategy is important, timing is critical

We wear tracks out, lyrically I'm a beast

From Brooklyn's backbone, epitome of the streets

Only the strong survive, if you physically weak

You get gunbutted, stabbed, shot, and critically beat

'Cause listen, ain't no shook hands in Brooklyn

Presidential with the matching bullet bracelet, it's a good look, man

Call me whatever, I hustle and I rap a little

You see the color stones chain look like a pack of Skittles

I give 'em anthrax, every bar is that official

I know I'm a gangster, I ain't got to pack a pistol

I don't rap in riddles, I give it to a nigga

Straight, no chaser, I'm like Hen' on the rocks

If it ain't the fifth, it's probably the Glock

I'm the nigga Clue and Duro call when they need the bodies to drop

If it ain't the chain, it's probably the watch

When I ride if it ain't the truck or sedan, it's probably the drop

Play the block, I don't party a lot

I'm the one who sent the goon with the snub to get the jewels from the club

I could never blow all my dough

When I get at least ten people robbed at all my shows

And all I know: money, clothes, birds, and cars

Running from Po's, champagne, furs, and R's

Quite sure you must've heard of the God

If not I'm Cain, Triangle Offense, I'm a third of the squad

I'm the first line of the defense, the star point guard

Is back starting, y'all be used to riding the bench

[?] fuck that "no women, no kids" shit

When the shotty blows, everybody goes, business is business

But dig this, fuck a guilty conscience

I'll put a slug in you, really give you something to live with

Fuck street fighting, I pull a hammer in a split second

The kid breathe fire, and speak lightning

These niggas ain't writing

All they did was analyze my flow, and use my style so their liking, nigga

[Outro: Paul Cain]

Now the year's new, I laid my game flat

I want my spot back, take two, motherfucker