Nobody Fucking With Us Royce Da 5'9" (Ft. Bun B, Crooked I & Joe Budden)

[Verse 1: Bun B]
Let's get it started like transmission and alternators
Got the keys in the cage, ready for who you call the greatest
Taking 'em down from the biggest bitches to smallest haters
I'm 'bout to serve these niggas, call 'em waiters
Got my mind right, money right, ready for war
And I got the C4 under my competitor's car
These niggas running 'round, talking 'bout they better than moi
When I'm done, all that's gon' be left, bitch, is your head and your bra (Damn!)
Bitch, I'm the head of the pack, and I'm ahead of the game
And I put your head on a platter, you put some shit on my name
Bitch, I'm the shit—see the stains that I done left on the track?
And I ain't saying no names, but I left the best on they back
And they ain't saying no names, so I gotta say it myself
I'm finger-fucking this game, so you gotta play with yourself
Don't pull a K off the shelf or pull a strap out the stash
I ain't gotta draw the pistol, I'll be clap at your ass
I just let the hands of God toe-tap on you fast
Leave you mashed like potatoes on the top of the grass
Call the coppers to catch me and they'll just tell you to drop it
I'll find you sooner or later, and they can't do shit to stop it
Got that thang and I'ma pop it like a bubble on the double
I am trouble in the flesh, you can't see me with the Hubble
We ain't wishing these niggas good luck—go get a clover
This Bun B, it's B-E-3, this shit is over