[Verse 1: John Cena]
We keep it hoppin' like the cars with the shocks
We spittin' heat on your block
We new to the game, but runnin the spot
Numbin' your knot, with basslines that'll make ya neck break
This rook'll take your queen and put ya king in checkmate
Open your mind without makin' ya meditate
We real champs; y'all just featherweight
Time to get it straight, I push your wig back
Crew loaded up with extra bread like a Big Mac
Beefin' with us? We're leavin' you face down
Stompin' bitch rappers like I'm straight outta A-Town
Runnin' the playground like it was a track meet
Shoes on the whip that be bigger than Shaq's feet
We into big things, bank account's overgrown
All types of cheese - swiss, cheddar, provolone
Guaranteed to burn wax like candles
Track hittin' hard to the head like shots of Jack Daniels
[Hook 2X: John Cena]
Y'all, bitch, crews, don't wanna fuck with us
Y'all bound, to, lose, another one bites the dust
Y'all, bitch, crews, don't wanna fuck with us
Y'all bound, to, lose, another one bites the dust
[Verse 2: Tha Trademarc]
It's Trademarc the truth, laid back, aloof
I'm God, as if you needed some proof
You ain't hard I can see it on you, I need a roof
Fuck a droptop, crop if I'm creepin' on you
Click-clack nickelback knickknacks if you got heaters on you
Spittin' back live rounders, with five pounders
If we meetin' on two, I put a beatin' on you
Your sound's tired buddy, that's why I'm sleepin' on you
We lean back in the ride, with cream stackin' the rawhide
The sound of God slide with a raw vibe
Straight military camel clothes ash brown boots
So sick, I've been handlin' flows, since enamel was gold tooth
And branded by low
You cold fuck like eskimo hoes at 7 below
You slow, you be the last to think
My hands seen more fuckin' dirt than bathroom sinks
We keep it hoppin' like the cars with the shocks
We spittin' heat on your block
We new to the game, but runnin the spot
Numbin' your knot, with basslines that'll make ya neck break
This rook'll take your queen and put ya king in checkmate
Open your mind without makin' ya meditate
We real champs; y'all just featherweight
Time to get it straight, I push your wig back
Crew loaded up with extra bread like a Big Mac
Beefin' with us? We're leavin' you face down
Stompin' bitch rappers like I'm straight outta A-Town
Runnin' the playground like it was a track meet
Shoes on the whip that be bigger than Shaq's feet
We into big things, bank account's overgrown
All types of cheese - swiss, cheddar, provolone
Guaranteed to burn wax like candles
Track hittin' hard to the head like shots of Jack Daniels
[Hook 2X: John Cena]
Y'all, bitch, crews, don't wanna fuck with us
Y'all bound, to, lose, another one bites the dust
Y'all, bitch, crews, don't wanna fuck with us
Y'all bound, to, lose, another one bites the dust
[Verse 2: Tha Trademarc]
It's Trademarc the truth, laid back, aloof
I'm God, as if you needed some proof
You ain't hard I can see it on you, I need a roof
Fuck a droptop, crop if I'm creepin' on you
Click-clack nickelback knickknacks if you got heaters on you
Spittin' back live rounders, with five pounders
If we meetin' on two, I put a beatin' on you
Your sound's tired buddy, that's why I'm sleepin' on you
We lean back in the ride, with cream stackin' the rawhide
The sound of God slide with a raw vibe
Straight military camel clothes ash brown boots
So sick, I've been handlin' flows, since enamel was gold tooth
And branded by low
You cold fuck like eskimo hoes at 7 below
You slow, you be the last to think
My hands seen more fuckin' dirt than bathroom sinks
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