Pregame

[Intro: Sauce Money]

Sauce Money, yo, yeah-yeah

Sauce Money, yo

You know the dril

Chilling with my mans, Marley Marl, Pete Rock

Future Flavas

MCA style, man

Cut the check or suck a dick

[Verse 1: Sauce Money]

I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine

Shook the rap game with just one line

When me and my niggas combine, all day, you know what?

Sometimes, I run with mad niggas who done time

Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin' the vein

My shells is like information, go in your brain

Holdin' my slug, before you squeeze 'em, show 'em the love

Burn your fingertips so throw 'em a glove, understand me

Before my album drop, copped a Grammy, uncanny

Bought my first Rollie from Manny

Dirty burners, my crew never hand me; nigga we family

You not, get shot, get caught sniffin' like Dexter Manley

With least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red

Damn, we all the shit you can't be

We big-time, you small-time, real small, like how an ant be

Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo, and Danny (Bop!)

Peace to the Burrells, Cut Wop and Stanley (Geah!)

Boom, Moët and bow, my whole set is wild (wild)

Past threats, frontin' flash singles and ass bets

Fuck a bitch, you know the drill

Cut a check or suck a dick (What the fuck...)

[Verse 2: Jay-Z]

As a youth explosively, clappin' off the roof

Shootin' guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo'e

Back then, Gil was my co-d

Spanish Jose showed me how to get the money niggas owed me

Fast-forward: No kids, six cars, and three Rollies

Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin' on Ooba

Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up

From the Range with the ski rack, or six with the roof up

Shit, I light the motherfuckin' soundproof booth up

New shit, y'all say the same shit like you're looped up

Your raps all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorsese

What your album lack is more Jay-Z

Code name: Jay-Hova—all praise me

Y'all don't paint pictures, you all trace me

You've yet to see the day when my squad be done

I represent that shit, nigga—Marcy son, what!

[Verse 3: Sauce Money]

I grab my dick in front of your bitch, screaming, "Fuck your spot!"

Heatmiser, anything I ever touch was hot

Sauce watching all you wildcats flop, sound greasy

One sound on your whole CD, making my job easy

Figured as much though, got your hustle swingin'

Cop a muzzle, and then y'all got the nerve to drop a double?

Everybody ain't Big, nigga

Everybody can't flow like Jig, nigga; bitch niggas, listen—

No sorrow tomorrow if you swallow hollow-points

Like a dread in the weed spot, I'ma move some joints

I ain't playing, these BK slugs sprayin'

Mute niggas could tell you how nice I am—it goes without saying

Malicious, rap flow vicious, stack dough

Bitches sucking dicks say, "Fat boy delicious"

Pretentious niggas get it in slow-mo

Kodak couldn't picture that

So X-ray machines taking your team photo

Niggas switching like a homo, shit on your team

Fuck how they feel, get all that cream

Here comes the drama, here's the drummer, they call your number

And now your fun-filled summer filled with bounty hunters

If a bitch fuck you for free, cats will kill you for the same fee

Think niggas give a fuck what your name be?

Or your raw crew? Kid, you're all saw-through

Mad 'cause you ain't blow yet

Never fret, nigga—your bitch blew for you

Get on some Prince shit like, "I truly adore you"

Never, crab cat, fuck you—have that

Sauce Mother-F-U tricks all in the mix

300 large on my flat, up in the sticks

Nuthin' but a lot of leg room, my son and my bitch

Getting fatter off salmon, croquettes, and grits

Peace to all my niggas in Marcy, Viya Schmidt and Bits

L-channel, Henny and crime, nigga, which—

One of y'all in the mirror lookin' facing them 8's?

One in your helmet might induce a case of the shakes

B-Scott, what the deal son? Reno, where the 'dro at?

Sauce Money... You know that, nigga