[Produced by DJ Premier]
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9]
Yeah, fall in line
To fall back, Big L's technique, Pun's grammar
Before the roof went in the trunk, the ragtops
Sat back behind the head, just like a gun hammer
My sickness, should remind you of Christmas, cause
I’m always coming down with something, like a young Santa
Understand, there will be no rematch
The kinda ass whooping, you’ll only have to open up one can of
(Nickel Nine the God) Huh?
You ain’t rolling forward, you’re rolling wrong
Reaching out to gangstas, to be gangsta, you holding on
I grab a hold of this .44 long, and let it go
More than a 4 year old, singing the Frozen song
I put this Tec to your eclectic temple
And wreck your wit, then carve in your tombstone:
“Heavenly Father, he wasn’t ready to collide with a force
To be reckoned with.” Do you boys know who you messing with?
I’m with messing-with-niggas-destiny shit, I'm from the Midwest, I stopped drinking so I can start policing
The block, now I just cop smoke, like pig breath
Pac’s soul would come out, if I died a big death
Shoe connoisseur, who’s finer, your bitch?
Or my bitch? It don’t matter, cause you with my ex
The name of my ex inked on you, to me homie
Extinct, like a dinosaur, you can probably find me spooning
With a dime looking like Lucy Liu, or something to my broom
Looking like, a huge China drawer, I’m a motherfucking
Walking hazard, find me in the bodying department
When y’all rhyming, if y’all own release remind me
Of Prodigy partner, y’all can have it, I man up
Lifted the can up, killed the killer, who ran up scared
When I was eight, my daddy yelled down the basement steps:
"You only gotta listen to me, and the man upstairs!"
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9]
Yeah, fall in line
To fall back, Big L's technique, Pun's grammar
Before the roof went in the trunk, the ragtops
Sat back behind the head, just like a gun hammer
My sickness, should remind you of Christmas, cause
I’m always coming down with something, like a young Santa
Understand, there will be no rematch
The kinda ass whooping, you’ll only have to open up one can of
(Nickel Nine the God) Huh?
You ain’t rolling forward, you’re rolling wrong
Reaching out to gangstas, to be gangsta, you holding on
I grab a hold of this .44 long, and let it go
More than a 4 year old, singing the Frozen song
I put this Tec to your eclectic temple
And wreck your wit, then carve in your tombstone:
“Heavenly Father, he wasn’t ready to collide with a force
To be reckoned with.” Do you boys know who you messing with?
I’m with messing-with-niggas-destiny shit, I'm from the Midwest, I stopped drinking so I can start policing
The block, now I just cop smoke, like pig breath
Pac’s soul would come out, if I died a big death
Shoe connoisseur, who’s finer, your bitch?
Or my bitch? It don’t matter, cause you with my ex
The name of my ex inked on you, to me homie
Extinct, like a dinosaur, you can probably find me spooning
With a dime looking like Lucy Liu, or something to my broom
Looking like, a huge China drawer, I’m a motherfucking
Walking hazard, find me in the bodying department
When y’all rhyming, if y’all own release remind me
Of Prodigy partner, y’all can have it, I man up
Lifted the can up, killed the killer, who ran up scared
When I was eight, my daddy yelled down the basement steps:
"You only gotta listen to me, and the man upstairs!"
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