Who is it, Killa boo
Jigga what, Jigga who, he a muthafuckin’ jigga-boo
Playahater I don’t play them games
You got beef with Killa, nigga, say my name
You shy, he snortin’ raw, or they reported wrong
My paper long, I be on any resort ya on
The muscle muscle tussles I give
I got homes where you hide, I hustle where you live
So get the K’s, I’m Mr. K, he fish filet
He only go to Marcy on Christmas Day
You not Santa fuck clothes from Bertoff
‘Fore you murk off why don’t you drop work off
Or, sign a rapper from the borough, get off Jeezy dick
And Rick Ross shit, but he a jerk-off
I done dust and fried him, the fans must oblige him
Called the sandals slippers, can’t justify ’em
We the Byrdgang, you a bird head
You do flip-flops, step up, hermes
I from the rap blocks, the rats, and have knots
Only G-4 I’m on is a laptop
Got me over-depressed, nigga HOV is a mess
It’s G-5 minimum or Global Express
Goddag (dag) we livin’ in Baghdad
You got no style, dip inside the swag bag
See bad past, Benz’s, black Jag
I’m tremendous, my pants from sack sag
And the guns are imported and exquisite
He out of retirement, Jordan on the Wizard
