Teksty: Buddha Monk. Prophecy Reloaded. Nigga Wut...la-la.

[Intro: Juice]
Again? What the fuck? Uh-huh
On the track, right?

[Juice:]
Buddha and me, we the nicest, we don't need that ice shit
Head from half dikers, jollies of all sizes
No prize for second place, while I'm the hypest
Haters came to cypher, mack 10's, I light ya
Lay pipes since minors, game tight as plyers
Ashtma, I'm still high in project risers
Street kid disguisers, doorag crisis
Timb construct stylist, rhymes run through ya houses
Roof blown off, survive of the soon laws
Bulletproof cocoon door, Brooklyn shoot the tools off
I overheat excite bikes, one by the spine right
Two hundred a seat, keep niggas on they feet
Reach six feet of N speed, left that in the streets
Understand my street speech, we be in on easy
Grimey under shiesty, divided by greasy
Highly flammable, burner, bust my attitude, b
Not much to fuck with, don't press ya luck, kid
Trust me, nigga, hey, you can do worst
I have ya whole fucking family layed out in a hearse
And I don't like guns nigga, better run nigga, go, go

[Chorus x2: Buddha Monk]
La-la-la, la-la-la-da-la, laaa-ahh
La-la-la, la-la-la-da-la, laaa-ahh
La-la-la, la-la-la-da-la, laaa-ahh
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga

[Buddha Monk:]
What's this town represented by me? It's Brooklyn
Bring the war on, niggas I suggest that you throw ya vest on
I love this shit, settle nothing less than it
Cap at you assholes, clack clack on you assholes
Shit, you critics don't wanna see my clips or
How many times I just flipped yo bitch
It's a stick-up, stick-up! Don't ya get up, get up
Now you know you done fucked up, right, right, right
And you don't care if your quitters is mad at me
I love to, walk the streets, carrying heat
I love to, fuck with freaks in the back of the jeep
I love to, bounce to a moet hit this on writer's sheet, let's go

[Chorus]