Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Show off, show off... (AHHHH~!)
Yeah, yeah!
Termanolo-GY! S, T!
Mo P'S!
Yeah, F-izzay, M-izzay, block hugger shit
That ol' gutter shit, fuck all that other shit
These niggas soft with them whack-ass love songs
Them and they baby moms cut 'em with, suck a dick
Who you fuckin with? Y'all ain't fuckin with Jamal
Y'all see how I'm up in this bitch, and I got my rubber on
If you really wanna thug it, C'MON~!
Fuck it we can thug it let's turn this bitch into a thugathon
My street cred is good fuck goin in my account
I can get your head popped off with no money down
That one-eight-seven is the hometown's favorite
Inhale the gunsmoke that's the fo'-pound fragrance
[*inhales deeply*] And your LP was upset
Shoulda named that shit "Press Eject"
So apologize to your fans for the disrespect
It's Mo P's, and S-T, nigga we gets respect
C'mon, it's the Thugathon!
Yo, what the fuck is you niggas staring at, yeah I'm back
Please give me a target to squeeze and flame these flares at, shit
Hand full of get back, bitch yeah (THAT'S THAT SHIT)
It's the Thugathon, nigga (COME ON)
Easy when you slide in, I'm with them live men
On the back block of solitary confinement
Have the crack spot on the line with the linesmen
(THIS IS A GANGSTA'S WHIP) You G'd up then climb in
When the police roll, it seem like a stray-off
To Wall Street, filling in for Bernie Madoff
It's called Deep Beyond Street, a nigga played ball
Baggy fitteds and sharp crease, a nigga stayed raw
I'm still vill, y'all know Burk
(He don't know how to do nothing outside of putting in work)
Fuck how y'all feel (the boy real), come up in the dirt
(Where they don't know how to do nothing outside of putting in work)
It's the remix, '82, that street shit
And we stick bottles in bitches that eat dick
Mo-P, ST, OG's
Cocaine, ecstasy and O.C's
I stick a heroin needle in my arm like it's legal
Roemello in Sugar Hill, more like Ginger in Casino
I'm running this shit, my Way like Carlito
It's that Nicario Micario, pump poison and diesel
I'm for Murder Mass, I brought the Murder Marx Boys
So make the wrong move, get murked with mass con
Pistol whip, strip, another sad song
We stash Ron, and look for haters to mash on
Gangs in New York, and goons and goblins
The po' come around my hood and I'ma rob em
Godfather, gooned out, Joe Pesci
The mo' guns I got that mean the mo' messy
BLAOW~!
"Who that?" "M.O.P"
"Who that?" "Termanology"
"Who that?" "Statik Selektah"
"Let 'em know"
"82" "and Lil' Fizzy"
"From B.K. pah where we still bang Biggie"
"Right now bye-bye"
"Showoff, Showoff" "It's the world renowned"
It's the Thugathon!
