| If A is for apple and J is for jack | 
| Then why so many brothas claim they wantin' to roll a sack | 
| They get they first zipper, cut it up in rocks | 
| Sack it up in bags, then it’s off to the block | 
| Everything is tight while the day is right and sunny | 
| Homie gettin' to smilin' ‘cause he makin' a little money | 
| But what about when it rains and the task get to jackin' | 
| That’s when you see that brotha game start lackin' | 
| Err, uh, duh, I’d like to tell you where he dwells | 
| The color of his car and the poison that he sells | 
| It’s called crackola, he’s snitchin' on the dry | 
| It ain’t like he a punk but now that jail thing ain’t fly | 
| What if they bend him over and hit it from the back? | 
| And Mr. Officer? | 
| He finna take you to the sack | 
| That’s the way it goes when you foolin' with these snitches | 
| I’m back for Ninety… and I’m wantin' is my riches | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| One, two, I’m bucklin' my shoe | 
| Three, four, I’m finna hit the floor | 
| Five, six, I’m picking up the sticks | 
| ‘Cause these tricks in my mix need to miss with that bullsh… | 
| I don’t trot but I stomp like a horse | 
| Women give me my props, top notch, and, of course | 
| You know I’m gettin' faded, young and old, fat or slim | 
| Them kids belong to him ‘cause I did her with a jim | 
| I’m never caught dippin', no, I’m playin' ‘em like a sport | 
| No monkey wrench tramp is finna run me through them courts | 
| And prove to the judge that the double ain’t straight | 
| ‘Cause me, myself and I, punk, we fade ‘em from the gate | 
| The last three cats that a tramp wants to meet | 
| And if you talkin' sh…, you got to give me four feet | 
| Go get an education, and when you get it, let me know | 
| And let them gold teeth and that beeper thang go | 
| ‘Cause now it’s now it’s ninety…, it’s time for Rich to bust a grape | 
| And if you want a sack, run and buy this hype tape | 
| Remember that voice that came in '89 bumpin' | 
| Throwin' styles, it ain’t no future in your frontin' | 
| Don’t get it twisted, I keep my thang on tight | 
| ‘Cause in the sideshow, I took you sideways to the next light | 
| Yeah, that’s me, the R, the I, the C | 
| The H, to the I, uh, to the E | 
| It’s young Rich, baby, and ain’t a damn thang changed | 
| My Cutlass bumps and, yeah, I’m still in them dice games | 
| So what they hittin' foe? | 
| I dig this stock | 
| And it’s my block, so back up, mark, this is my knock | 
| And I’mma serve ‘em wit' love | 
| And if push comes to shove, I’mma give this brotha two dubs | 
| ‘Cause I love to see ‘em bubble | 
| And if you cross the double, boy, you know you in trouble | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| See, I’m like Rumple-stil-big-bad-skin, with AK-47s and Mac-10s | 
| And 11s, 12-shot 9s don’t work | 
| ‘Cause really a brotha need rounds to do some dirt | 
| Out in this izz-O, don’t get your head rolled, young ass… | 
| Tryna fool wit' a bigga figga | 
| The D-U-double B-EL, don’t mix me up with C. L | 
| And anything I do, punk, we keepin' it on the DL | 
| I’m in the game strong, slangin' the game, gettin' a half-a-thang | 
| Slappin' them bones and servin' straight stones | 
| Flippin' Irocs on thee tops, ‘cause that’s the way that we ride | 
| Ain’t no G-ride, but I’m down to take thee ride | 
| All through the Town to serve a knot | 
| And if I got, I’ll ride my big block | 
| ‘Cause 5−0s, they be on big jock | 
| And ain’t nothin' like the Crown Vic gettin' used by the slapstick | 
| As I say ‘peace' to Suzy Chapstick | 
| I’m out, ready to swerve straight to 580 | 
| And ain’t no sense in stoppin' ‘cause my L’s is shady | 
| And uh, they would love to fluke up on a brotha like the double | 
| («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on this track like a mack with the double | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Now you know you in trouble») | 
| Ruff neckin' on the track… | 
| Flossin' on that ass («Baby…too loc’ed out») |