| You don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| Run up you big-ass bitch and I’ll have you clockin G’s | 
| Wit my knockout jab, mess around and stab | 
| yo' ass in the gut, I don’t give a fuck | 
| Down with the brown, clownin these honkies | 
| that got us in the mix with they 666 | 
| Tricks get found, stinkin like tuna | 
| Bailin through your hood in my fresh suede Pumas | 
| And I don’t hit gates, nigga pump yo' brakes | 
| cause I ain’t runnin, you better start gunnin | 
| Take your hand off your metal | 
| There’s nowhere to hide, cause the world is a ghetto | 
| Want my afro long like Mad Dawg | 
| on a velvet poster, 40 on the coaster | 
| cause moms don’t play that shit | 
| Been hard on a nigga since (?)8−8-6(?) | 
| Sayin you need Jesus, cause I got the fresh sweatshirt | 
| with the three fat, creases | 
| And it’s on like that, nigga where you at? | 
| At a phone booth, I’m comin in the Coupe | 
| Beanie pull over, fool there they go | 
| Drive real slow so we can let them hoes know | 
| that G’s even bust on L.A.P.D.'s | 
| Make 'em eat cheese, cause they don’t wanna fuck with these | 
| And he don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| I got mo' flavor than a hoe with a dick | 
| and a stick of gum on her tongue, I get you sprung | 
| with the psycho-alpha-disco, my fist go | 
| in my pocket, grabbin on my pistol | 
| But I won’t pull it out til it’s time to spit | 
| Make the girls say, «Damn, niggaz can’t have shit» | 
| Cause I see Satan, waitin in the cut | 
| for this black motherfucker, to bail out his hut | 
| And I don’t give a mad-ass fuck | 
| about a sheriff who’s tryin to tear-off a (??) | 
| My chinny chin chin hit him up with the right | 
| and then I bend bend got his ass in my sight | 
| My Chuck’s hit the cement, then I bent the corner | 
| Yellin, «+Cop Killer+, and fuck Time-Warner» | 
| Got the wick-a-tick (??) niggaz say, damn he’s so sweet | 
| Hypnotize yo' ass like that shit «Knee Deep» | 
| And you hate it, gang-affiliated | 
| Niggaz be bumpin, just a little somethin | 
| from that loc’ed out nigga that cater to the O.G.'s | 
| And let you know, that you don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| And you don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| And you don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| Rollin through the hood, when I see a bitch | 
| I hit the switch, she’s on my dick | 
| Fresh t-shirt, thick like I hangs | 
| They say I got St. Ide’s rushin through my veins | 
| from the CRASH units, all the way to Vice | 
| They claimin Ice Cube, ain’t nuttin nice | 
| cause I keep hittin, fuck Bill Clinton | 
| No repentin, just representin | 
| I can walk through the park cause it’s crazy after dark | 
| Keep my hand on my gun, cause I ain’t the one | 
| Bang you’re dead, brains out your head | 
| I wish I was the nigga that invented infrared | 
| Now I got it poppin but what’s that odor? | 
| Smells like a hot pot of that bakin soda | 
| Cause I know nigs from A’s to Z’s slangin ki’s | 
| Sayin you don’t wanna fuck wit these | 
| Nigga please |