[Verse 1: O.C.]
The whole city's under siege when we come through wit' guns blazin'
You need to take a seat, son, you just started shavin'
Respect ya elders, stay in and child's play
The monotone flow stayin' even wit the bass
Oh, good Lord, we throw it like a javelin toss
Arrogance is the feature that we added for floss
Come and get headline, destined to get riches
From either rappin' our ass off, or brick shipments
Cover all regions, makin' sure the product gets spread out
We talk behind the MAC you bust lead out
Wit' next prospect, no particular concept do we follow
Smooth, but yet solid like marble
[Verse 2: Diamond D.]
Niggas ain't fuckin wit' D., fuckin' wit' me
Lookin' at me, like "Yo, what can it be?"
In the Widebody 7, while you suckin' the D
Spent out in the wedge, while I'm fuckin' for free
Scared to death, like you stuck in a tree
I'ma stretch your ass out, like I'm cuttin' the deed
Frontin' like a big man, but you stuck in a 3
So you know your floss game ain't nothin' to me
When the Sun hits the cross, yo, it's something to see
Arty, Kid Capri, niggas runnin' wit me
Twenty karats on the wrist ain't nothin' to me
Do you no good frontin' to me, nigga
[Verse 3: Kid Capri]
Aiyyo, Tone, let's Touch these niggas wit' the wand
Then blow up like a bomb
Made moves faster than the Autobahn
The Kid Capri is a institution, and all ya'll niggas is pollution
Stirrin' up a whole lot of confusion
It's simple, let's move out all these corn cats
And disc jock dissin' MC's that got the borin' raps
Fuck what ya got, grimey niggas don't wanna hear it
Niggas take it, soon as they near it, you better fear it
Bronx Bomber, the pretty fly girl charmer
The Black Italian, the cash keep pilin' as I'm smilin'
So hear me now, I bring the thunder, plus the rumble
And I'll step back and watch your whole career just crumble
[Verse 4: A.G.]
Well, it's the cheeba steamer
Brains on trains, won't eat her neither
Benz to the plane, off the plane to the Beemer
Insane and off the meter, in the rain, I'll heat up
And ya'll can't stop my sunshine, fuck one-time
Got heavyweight gats that'll push your face back
Trash-ass album, sound like you played it on 8-track
Rip you from the roots and under
Triple Gooses in the summer
Mean long guns is producin' the thunder
Convertible Hummers, we shit on a drop
Try to put the roof up, I'll tell Show to piss on the top
Wrist on the watch, roll wit' a click or a Glock
Plan on gettin' a lot, from spittin' or not
Cool wit' niggas that be flippin' a lot
Probably got shit on your block
And if you hate, I'll take it back to '88 (Nigga, get off the top!)
It's 2-G's, let's get this money – you wit' it or not?
But I'll switch topics, like my bitch wit' thongs in the Tropics
Make hits, straight hits
Perform as long as I got it
Seven-digits, wit' my name on the dotted
Remain dirty and potted, ya'll know me for the ruckus
G.D., I only can fuck wit'
Get the Dutch and tell Tony to Touch it
[Verse 5: Party Arty]
Guns, I tote them things
Blunts, I smoke them things
Rhymes, I wrote them things
It's no such thing, as hoes fron-ting
We run train, I do my thug thing
Grab the mic and leave a mud stain
So get Tide wit' bleach when I rhyme wit' beats
Niggas do crimes to eat
No pork, I don't talk, the nines just speak
I'm the kind to creep on your block wit' the heat cocked
Got the street locked, smackin' niggas out they Reeboks
It's Party Arty, I get dirty wit' the Ewoks
The infrared hit you in the head from three blocks – away
"Been There, Done That," like Dr. Dre
"It Ain't My Fault," like Silkk The Shocker say
Ya'll niggas gots to pay, shots'll spray
From the Bronx to Far Rockaway
My whole team, strapped like Bokeem
Fuck bein' in jail, trapped wit' no cream
[Verse 6: Lord Finesse]
I be the don that's known to have the style sewn
More cheese than calzones, give chicks the dial tone
Build like brownstones when we slaughter your plan
Touch album's so hot, comes wit' a portable fan
Type to starve the mic when I hog the light
Lay my life on the line if the odds is right
Get in the spot and gleam
While you plot and scheme to stop the team
Three words, nigga: "Watch and dream"
You just mad, hater, 'cause we movin' wit' dough
You don't make no sense, like wearin' suede shoes in the snow
Finesse frontin'? Y'all know me, I don't stress nothin'
Bought your album, that's how I broke the Eject button
Don't stress dudes, we just plot our next move
Make niggas look stupid, like jogging pants wit' dress shoes
The prophet, shit John Blaze like the Tropics
Type of nigga need a ab roller, just for my pockets
Don't flex punks, we sex stunts, collect lumps
You're flossin' now, you'll be pardoned by next month
Type of thug – yo, I was born to bug
Waitin' for us to fall? Nigga, join the club – what
READ MORE ABOUT TONY TOUCH
