Ayo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to 2Pac Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on New Lots I was too young, couldn't get up in clubs back in the old days We used rob and terrorize kids in front of homebase When Funkmaster Flex was inside rocking the whole place We was outside, smacking kids and snatching gold chains Bagging mad pigeons, catching mad digits, bad bitches And when they husbands came around we had to blast biscuits A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols Broken dreams and broken homes, we always had issues And mad problems, worshipping gangsters and bank robbers Watching Scarface, starting fights at rap concerts Until we realized how to get the real money Steal money, kidnap money, kill money It's funny how the money make the whole world love you Jealous cats hate you, dime bitches want you Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna touch you Got the IRS looking at you, wanna fuck you Sniffing so much blow, you don't know if you can trust you Ecstasy react to what the cocaine and the dust do Go against the ILL BILL and Non Phixion will crush you Bust you, leave you with a tube in your throat to suck through We truck jewels, these dust brothers fuck mothers The thugs love us, rap for the gunslingers and drug hustlers Where my gangstas at? "Is you a gangsta?" "With gangsta rap"