Hey yo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to Tupac Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on newlots 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 If Funkmaster Flex was inside, rockin the whole place We was outside, smacking kids and snatchin gold chains Baggin mad pigeons, catchin mad digits, bad bitches And when they husbands came around we had to blast bisquits A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols Broken dreams and broken homes, we always had issues And mad problems worshippin gangstas and bankrobbers Watchin star fade startin fights and rap conscience [?] Until we realized how to get the real money Steal money, kidnap money, kill money Its funny how the money make the whole world love you Jealous cats hate you, dime pigeons Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna touch you Got the irs lookin at you, wanna fuck you Sniffin 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 I'll Bill, and Non Phixion will crush you, bust you Leave you with a tube and ya throat to suck through [?] We truck jewels, we dust brothers fuck mothers You thugs love us, ? The gunslingers and drughustlers Where my gangstas at?