[Royce Da 5'9"]   DJ's and MC's   Comin up next is the incredible   We takin it back to the beats and the RHYYYYYYYYYMES...      5-9 is BACK, about to make a nigga spin on his BACK   Not on a cardboard, on the ground with people surroundin   lookin down at him lookin astounded   Ready to draw around him; an outline of his body in chalk form   This nigga here let the trigger talk for him   His niggaz'll bark for him, for real, his heart's warm   So you've been warned (GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO..)   I don't even need to be drunk forever, the liquor is rootin me on   I turn tables fast as Jam Master Jay do   I'm N.W.A., I choke hoes like Dre   Poke holes in the pavement, throw foes in the grave   If you could choose between a broke nose or the A.K.   I make movies like Cube 'cept I use hammers   YEP! I shoot but I don't do it with cameras   NOPE! So you can call me Malcolm   You can all witness what I be doin to all of these rappers (yes!)   Wit'chall sloppy tactics; don't try to copycat me   if you ain't tryna box me back   And watch your back, don't take another look into the eyes   of a nigga that's willin to ride 'til he blind      (Fuck a hook.. fuck a hook)   Chk-chk-chk, Royce.. 5.. 9.. (he's baaaaack)   Yeah, and it's on   (Fuck a hook.. fuck a hook.. fuck a hook)   Chk-chka-chka-chka, I will rhyme all day   YES!      I'll show you the back of your brain   Slap you with the back of the gun   Clap you when the rappin is done   I aim to hit, I pack macs, accurate ones   Change the clip, I send rappers back where they from   Changin fast, the game I ask is not a sport   I'm tired of bein a fuckin day late and a dollar short   And I'm back! All of you rap niggaz hide your mics   I'm ridin, dyin, and I ain't flyin by on them bikes   I'm walkin, talkin, you eye me you dyin tonight   This iron is showin you the shine designed by Christ   And I, am the head reaper about the sick shit   You about to see dead people without the "Sixth Sense"   And yeah, takin food off my mother's table'll   get you killed regardless, like my brother's label   My heart and arteries a part of me, that'll test the truest   We can do it, put your vest into it, yeah      (Fuck a hook.. fuck a hook.. fuck a hook)   Chka-chka-chk, you don't wanna play with him today   Yea - NO!   Yeah, hardcore! Rhymes galore!   OHH! Givin you what you need   Like I told you BEFOOOOOOOOOOORE..      Yeah, the rap game is DEAD, I'm bout to breathe life in it   Bring it back to when niggaz was cypherin   Yeah, back in the DAY, when nobody needed radio play   I was straight long as my radio played tapes   And this went on before all of them pay dates   We was backflippin and windmillin to save face   These days, we'll give you the mac so stay in your place   I hope before you lay on your back, you sayin your grace (pray!)   These new cats that rap to me they groupies   You never see 'em in Max Julius or them Guccis   Or they woulda got robbed for them Diadores   or the Gazelles, we the store, we take, we sell your   items we took, have you goin to tell   We crooks, we either goin pro or goin to jail   I know I'ma spare - many lifes   This rap shit is comin with ME, cause don't nobody know how to share      (Fuck a hook.. fuck a hook.. fuck a hook)   Chka-chka...   ("Get in your mind, get in your mind   Get in your mind all day!!")