Låttexter: K-Rino. Triple Darkness Vol.1: Wreck Time. Knockin Our Hustle.

[Talking:]
One time for ya mind
Clear some thangs up real quick, man
Cause I ain't like things to talk from being out here, yeah
Thangs I've be reading
Shows I've been watching
Telling... taking some real haterism
Real haterism
It ain't looking good
Listen, uh

[Verse 1:]
I remember a time, when one coast ran the game
And everybody showed respect to em no matter who came
But the success that they untamed became hard to sustained
And after years of money and fame they relinquished their brain
We supposed them from day one, the east coast was flourishing
Had love for hip hop and paid Amish to it's origins
But when we try to sign with them our dreams got shattered
We got over look and shot down like we didn't matter
So we went independent struggle hard for a minute
Never tripping knowing without them, we wouldn't be in it
We watch the west coast represented to the fullest capacity
Brought a new style dropped classic heat and did it with mastery
All the while we kept racing G, still grinding patiently
Through the hating way to each station the city in the nation see
And now we even good so they instantly hated
But check the history the south is what some of y'all originated

[Hook: x2]
Tell me why y'all getting pissed cause we opening doors
Why you try'na knock our hustle we ain't never knocked yours
We gave love and look how dirty you did us
You need to step ya game up and try to get this bread with us

[Verse 2:]
If be hoofing the mind state of hate is being proven
Jealousy brooming and fools because they units ain't moving
I used to watch Apollo and no matter how good the artist was doing
If they was from the south, nine out of ten the crowd starting booing
They think we have no capacity for intelligent speaking
As if intelligence is only confined the one coast the region
We got artist who are some of the best in the world of nation
But get no consideration based on geographical location
They think it's stupid, but I'll tell you what stupid to me
Judging a whole region off ten guce you've might of seen on TV
Now all of a sudden, hip hop is dead and it's time to rebuild it
Well if it is dead I feel it was hating that killed it
On the radio you say the south is country and slow
But it's all love when you down here try'na make you some doe
Now when they shit is lame, we the ones they tend to blame
And brace the versity that's the main element that extends the game, fool

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3:]
And I ain't tripping I was raised on east coast hip hop
I was trained by KRS, Chop Game with Tila Roc
We got New Yorkers who buying CD's every one that I had
But since we so simply and dumb lemme give you some math
We grind hard, hit the road, hustle straight blue collar
Y'all are major labels per unit given half of a dollar
So if you went gold you're grossing two hundred and fifty grand
Too pay your managers your lawyer and don't forget Uncle Sam
Every promotional expense that they said you would need
Not to mention parts of the contract that you failed to read
After the video and studio time they recruit
You might touch fifty G's unless yo ass in the group
Now down south our records independently drop
Let's say we move fifty thousand to eighty dollars a pop
Minimum overhead four hundred thousand all our cash
Do the math sometimes we make more instead a less then y'all ass, yeah

[Hook x2]