2-3 Break

[Intro]
You know what?

[Verse 1: Psycho Les]
People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor
Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter
Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple
We get caught, it's strictly mental
A stone crook, I don't go by the book
You can't fool me with your gangster look
I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay
When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out
And don't try talking bold
'Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall"
What? You punk, who's gonna defend you?
When I bum rush your ass and stick an icepick in you?
Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick
'Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's)
The bed slammer can stick a ho
With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again

[Interlude]
Two, three, break!

[Verse 2: Fashion]
I got so much of this style coming from my lips while
Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles
Bang, I got my own thang, gang, ain't it proper?
Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper (C'mon)
Let 'em fucking know who's the Kool, where I'm coming from
Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em
Bagging 'em, plus I hit they hoes in the mean (Yee-haw)
'Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green
Seen crazy niggas get lost in the shuffle
With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble
Ta-dow, now (Ha), that's how it's falling
Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherfucking balling
Hanging with my crew on the Peekskill plain
I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick
Trick, you know my style, no, it ain't no use
'Cause I can keep your ho wet like a fucking douche (It's like that)

[Interlude]
Two, three, break!

[Verse 3: JuJu & Gab]
Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner
My rhymes will make niggas collapse into a coma
Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission
Deadly with intent to shell the opposition (Yeah)
Fucking with this flow, come on, yo, that's treason
Niggas fuck around and get shot for no reason
Junkyard nigga, represent every time
Corona's in the house and, yo, Gab (Off the Richter Scale)
My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war, come forth
I'll floss my fronts with your spinal cord
Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside
Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide
But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault (What?)
'Cause I assault niggas who couldn't launch shit with catapults
So if you ever hear the name Gab One
Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun (Kid)

[Outro: JuJu]
Word up, it's like that, Beatnuts, Triflicts in the house, yeah
Nineteen (Nineteen), gettin' money (Gettin' money)
You know what I'm sayin'? (You know what I'm sayin'?)
Word (Word)