(Blaze Ya Dead Homie)   G's up, ridin' from the cradle to the casket   And beyond, recognize thug shit   Poundin' out the trunk bitch   Runnin' wit' a mother fuckin' hatchet   you haters, you suck dick was a thug, became a G   B to the L to the A, Z, E, still dead   Still don't give a fuck (give a fuck)   Sportin' all black kahkis with the mother fuckin' cuffs up   Smokin' Hella trees, tryin' to make a couple G's   So a thug can get back on his feet   Mean muggin', steady thuggin'   And I'm tryin' to find the hoodrat's all about fuckin'   Still loked out   All my dawgs from the past, dead or smoked out   Still tryin' to come up on a lick for a phat ass ride   So I can drop the top, and parlay through the east side      Chorus (Monoxide Child)   Niggas kick the anthem like this   Juggalos up in this bitch, up in this bitch! x 4      (Blaze)   Bitches freeze, you aint a thug or a G or a banga'   You's a studio gangsta   You aint about shit, scared to pull the trigga'   That's what we call, a real bitch nigga' (bitch nigga')   Sneekin' through the hood, throwin' up a set   Hangin' out the window, yellin' idol threats   Check this out, I'm a check your chin   Close your mouth, 'fore I put the barrel in   Dumpin' clips in yo ass is what I'm all about   Straight G from the clique on a paper route   Still slappin' off fake bitches with the Louiville   Beat a nigga' to the pavement, another bitch killed      Chorus (Monoxide Child)      (Jaime Madrox)   This is the battle for the planets   We bring the thunder, givin' half the advantage   Fuck a style and a status   Half of y'all hummin' off a half ass deal   And got the nerve to tell a mother fucker 'keep it real'   We see through y'all fools, like cellophane on the square pack   You bite our shit, you can keep it, we don't want it back   We don't give a fuck, east side for life   And if you aint got heart, don't expect to have your shit tight   There aint no room for the hoe-hearted   We give a fuck where you at, or who you wit', or how you got started   Fuck you and everybody in yo clique   If you don't run wit' a hatchet, or claim the Psychopathic   I aint got time, to say no names   It's only 8 rhymes, no holla', we been in the game   Besides fuck it, no speakin your name   You're just a bitch in the game   And y'all niggas gone' always be the same      Chorus x8   *Hammer slide*