The PJs - Masta Killa, Pete Rock, Raekwon

Yo man get ya ass in here man

You know the fuckin’Police lookin’for you man

Come on man, them niggaz just left here man

Come on man you know we got mad fuckin’blow

Up in the Motherfuckin’lab son

This nigga’s off the hook man

Yo Chef talk to these niggaz man

We baggin’ounces in the back of the Maz'

Ostrich on, Wollriches, three Quarter-ness

A.D.I.D.A.S.

wit Stan Smith’s

The grant’s on the Stove

And Aunt Lo about to come to the Lab-o

She givin’me some credit for clothes

That’s the slang work for bricks, dicks

Analyze you neva know who lookin'

It’s deranged world — wit snitches is Enterprisin'

Black Man hold on, like Magnums in the Wind

Cuz when it get cold, parole give a homey like ten

What’s the prognosis: drugs, guns, and ounces of Gold fish

Fly reefer out-town, bitches is stone six

And birds back in 18 and played C.R.E.A.M

Gray beam, it’s lean new A.D.I.D.A.S

jackets, flippin’up small dean

Visualizin’portraits, fresh cuts

Brand new Porsche’s

Going wit hand-to-hand, servin’the Source

Yo, runnin’from the Police

This day-to-day lifestyle where niggaz get arraigned

And get chain, it’s like Psycal (??Psycho??)--blao!

Drug Dealers, Star and Celebrities (Ghetto Celebs)

Even dudes wit a few felonies (A few felonies)

In 'The PJ’s’this what they tellin’me (Tellin'who?)

Sniffin’real hard but you not smellin’me (Smell me)

The crowd yellin’for 'Chef''Killa'and 'Pete Rock'(Pete Rock)

Got 'em movin’like the Millennium beat box (Beat Box)

Shit is all hood 'til they hear the heat cock (Whooo!)

Fall back and let the beat rock

Degrees of experience qualifies me to speak in certain areas

Where many can’t reach, so I prepared a speech for ya’ll

To then listen while I spit the hot venomous shit

My whole Clique sick, infested wit the itchy tigger finger mob related

Noodle-leanie universal flag Beanie

Son you wouldn’t want to see me black down, Masta .4 pound

Clip full of hallow tip round

Turn the fuckin’sound up My cup runneth over Hennessey, the Bill Bixby

Ninja Scroll, niggaz that roll

My son did four in the hole

Tenant population, neva told, facin’Parole

Sipped the old gold style, beat it in trial

My mild-mannered .9 Bandit, flow drunk

Look at Skunk weed stickin'

Razor sharp rip 'em, bites lift 'em

We at the Jam direct

The Ghetto Gospel, collaboration

One word could change the nation

No doubt!

Tuna Salad and Puma rackin'(??)

pushin’through the projects, captain

Get your money, yo show me no slackin'

We drive the meanest Joints

shoot through Medina wit a Evisu Jeans and Nina’s

Stop by Juniors we hittin’cheeba

Briefly, crackers observe

You got the undercovers

Niggaz just love us, we know they suckers

You know what?

— What?

Mosey don’t be nosey yo!

Watch these fake niggaz wit these Thank You cards

Them shits is bogey

Snitches in the hood up to no good

We would kill alot of Motherfuckers but the timin’ain’t good

So while my bankroll climbin'

I be out on consignment, breezin'

Ki’s wit 29 letter melted cheeses

All of my papers now in real estate

White folks been doin’this since '69

It’s billions and killer weight

So prosperous moves wit the jewels, wit Wu Nikes on It’s cool don’t eva act like niggaz ain’t who (??)

One!

Yea!

we just sit back — in the Luxury Toasters

Slidin’through the Motherfuckin’projects

Stand away from you fake ass Motherfuckers

Layin’out in the BarberShop, gettin’fucked up cuts

We don’t respect ya’ll (Don't respect ya’ll)

Knaw’sayin'?

This is Shala Lewis Rich

Pete Rock, Masta Killa, The Vatican

One!

I’m gone