Låttexter: Buddha Monk. Zu Chronicles Vol2: Like Father, Like Son. Down With U.

[Intro: Popa Chief]
It's Cohen... hah... Popa Chief/Black Unicorn
Daddy Warbucks/Buddha Monk
(Aiyo my Zu conglomerates, we goin in!)

[Popa Chief:]
Twist up the George Burns to this
Peace to my constituents, smell my music
My hip hop goes hood to hood, set to set
Block to block and still got mega-props
Y'all might as well as call the cops
I'm the biggest hater on the block
Brooklyn Zu's cream of the crop
They don't want it with Pops
Cause I'm sicker than Miss Evans' boy
With a case of the clap, y'all healthy raps
Versus my one foot in the grave raps
You might as well, stick ya dick in a bear trap
You wish you was hot as turtlenecks in the summertime
I'm a cold piece of work like the wintertime
High-caliber slang, dead center, every time
Chin tuck you winded, this can't be fixed with a bandage
There's no excuse, no luggage, no excess baggage
Submit, pay homage, free my people from bonage!

[Chorus: Popa Chief]
This is for my broke as shit niggaz who don't give a fuck
Fortieth lick niggaz, trained to bust niggaz
Rusty gun niggaz, my hungry niggaz, starvin niggaz
Guess what? We just like y'all niggaz
This is for my soap opera bitches, my fuck you baby daddy bitches
My foodstamp, nail and weave bitches
Club hoppin bitches, nailed her in the booth bitches
Guess what? We wanna do it all of you bitches

[Buddha Monk:]
Aiyo go to the liquor store, grab the Chardonay chick
Then hit the corner and sell five of those black, man
Next hit the studio, grab a little cutie yo
Big butt, tits like the size from the movie show
Pants saggin down with a gat, don't fail me now
Only trust those from the seventh realm
Only lay vocals niggaz when the chips is down
Fuck bein down, it only keeps ya pockets more broke
Dance to the drum beat off MP's
ASR-10s, trifin tracks with a squeeze
So blackout when I roll up with the A-Team
And spray things, not in the air, straight at you teens
And no time for is you is or is you ain't
But baby bitch ya crazy, I gotta get this money
I'm full focused, man, these C-Notes, evils? No
Hey so wine, wheat, noodles and platinum songs

[Chorus]

[Popa Chief:]
Yes a sucker falls every minute
You can't take it with you when you die so you might as well spent it
Coke and hot metal, a cold heart
Criminal activities, a fool and his money soon part
An old lady's purse gets snatched, ghetto roaches hats
Tough guy meets his match, cat-sized rats
No baseball, just knives and baseball bats
A Range over flats, razors and gats
Nobody gets tested, everywhere there's drug infested
If you want hustle, invest it
And I splurge over beer and the herb
The nouns and verbs, a couple of drunken cellar birds
A beautiful mind is a terrible thing to waste
So many criminal minds takin up space
I rap race at a rigorous pace, keeps all my slang laced
Cause I wanna be the one that they congratulate!

[Chorus x2]