[Guru]
  Yeah, I'ma start collectin props, connectin plots
  Networkin like a conference cuz the nonsense it yet to stop
  
  Police shake me down, which gangsta movie you like? This is real trife
  Real life -- wanna get ya shot in the game, and earn some real stripes
  Just like Feds magazine you couldn't imagine the battered scene
  You get shot up by little niggaz wearin gabberdeans(?)
  I'm tired of lookin like Malcolm, in the window though
  Unpack the strap, Baldhead Slick smokin indo yo
  I'm not gonna speak on the personal, street business
  As long as Moe and King keep witness, it's Sunzu Part 2
  Bring your guards too, never knew the depth of my crew
  Although I'm God-body, Baldhead Slick used to be a nobody
  Niggaz didn't know that my crew's thick
  
  [Killa Kaine]
  Aiyyo we killa hungry, I turn food back guerilla monkey
  Once I do that, nobody ain't healin and comfy
  I make niggaz come out the rugbies
  Talk shit, I'll kill ya company
  Your for that jake, take my head I'll fake my death
  They wanna kill me cuz they hate my strength
  That's why they vote when I raise the M
  and let go, hollow fights from Expo
  Hear my tec blow, my tec blow electro
  Thou which is set pose, these streets is Death Row
  One through ya neckbone, jerk back ya headphone
  Nigga pop to that, you talk heat, hope you got the gat
  Who can amount to this? Sit back and pour a ounce of Cris'
  Bump a ounce to this, watch the bouncer get
  testamentic, wild out, we gon' press ya district
  Sign out, or pull ya nines out and test ya biscuits
  Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted (son)
  Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted
  
  [Chorus: Guru] - 2X
  I'ma start collectin props, connectin plots
  Networkin like a conference, cuz the nonsense it yet to stop
  Jakes shake me down, haters wanna take me down
  Break it down {*gunshot*} blaow, all they heard was the sound
  
  [Mr. Moe]
  Fuck rappin bout hamburgers
  I'ma rap about murders, flippin work, and thirty burners
  The only thing cookin on the stove, is crack in the pot
  We flip pies like Jack In The Box
  My .44 be blastin the cops, I mastered the block
  My cousin's a NARC, said sleep in the day, come out when it's dark
  Niggaz'll test ya heart - Black Rhinos rip a vest apart
  Anybody doubt, fuck it we knockin 'em out
  Trinidad style with a body-shot, loud like when a Rotti' bark
  Cold John Gotti heart
  Can't be broke, ain't no joke, yes I smoke, wooden 'dro
  Five oh-oh, summer '99, I seen the snow
  Fuck the DEA and CEO - it's sour dough nigga, Mr. Moe nigga...
  
  [Guru] Collectin props, collectin props
  
  [Pete Powers]
  I throw punk niggaz through cement walls, and break sheetrock
  Compound sound before the beat drop -- beat break
  I shake shit like Japanese earthquakes
  Thunderstorm, sweaty palms, grab firearms
  Blisters on my soles, runnin on hot coals from po-po
  Ya faced-off, get scraped off my windshield, I been healed
  Rapped up in my turban, green colored Suburban
  Bleach fuck a detergent...
  I whip ass and kick ass and clear paths with blowtorches
  Burn down fortresses, and crack foreheads like porcelain
  I got a habit for the beef
  Put ya soul on a hole of the earth where it's mad deep
  Don't let that coal burn ya back
  My name is Pete Power, burn ya gat
  The devil made me mad, tell him to send me a kite
  and I'ma send one back with autographs from murder fans...
  
  [Chorus fading out]