19 nigga 7, bitch what's happenin?
    [Chorus:]
  Thirteen muthafuckin years!
  I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
  so bad you ain't no challenge.
  Thirteen muthafuckin years!
  This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.
  Thirteen muthafuckin years!
  I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
  so bad you ain't no challenge.
  Thirteen muthafuckin years!
    [Verse 1]
  Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it
  Keepin me rappin until I hoarse and swollen
  Thirteen years and rollin
  I rate colder than coldest
  Gettin part of this, niggas don't want no more of this
  Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selectin and sellin rhymes
  Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine
  Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"
  (This line whispered, can't hear)
  You be pissin me off some the time, take you down one at a time
  I'ma be known for fuckin over your whole album
  Who want my rhyme?
  Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing
  Keep duckin, I'ma keep buckin
  Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me
  Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)
  Hard to break, if it comes that way
  It took me thirteen muthafuckin years just to make a tape
  But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
  All I know I been tryin to make it for the fuckin longest
  Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it
  When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch
  Takin them riders down with me, clown with me
  Leave thirteen in your muthafuckin chest and you can count em
    [Chorus]
    [Verse 2]
  Nigga go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year
  Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets
  Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets
  Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches
  Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress
  Droppin like the temperature in December
  Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember
  Fulla them rocks, everybody move key
  It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs
  Handle your buisness in this industry of competition
  Or be at F.W. Bulls washin dishes
  Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes
  Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85
  86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape
  We dropped some real shit in the basement
  I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement
  To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
  That's when I got discouraged and joined the service
  Pissed of and I (?) before long
  I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home
  No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream
  Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen
    [Chorus]
    [Verse 3]
  I hit the bitch like BOSH! Owwwwww!
  Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow
  How in the fuck you like me right now
  Told your ass she had said I'd be on top of the pile
  Cause my rap style is my hustle
  I shot niggas up like Muslims
  With the flex like muscle
  Use a, pretty delievery cause it's most important
  I form a style sharp enough to cut straight through the bones
  I came from my welts, gave up my belt
  I got off from Big Boy records to put my single on the shelf, now
  Do I do it? Fuckin right I did it
  Shoulda seen the little chir'en in the street singin I'm Not That Nigga
  Size ain't nothin nigga, I'm short
  Shockin nigga, raah!
  They gave me five hundred dollars, shit I quit both of my jobs
  Fuck em, got some other shit to do from nine to five
  My birthday came, and my sister died
  But next year, Mystikal signed a half a million dollar deal with Jive
  This shit thats tragic can't be no more
  Because of my rings I work at A&P no more
  I drive my landcruiser off the show floor
  Got the time to time to feel pain, sittin on Volvos
  Comin with scheme, up in my dream
  Who'd a ever thought I'd be a No Limit soldier
  by the end of that thirteen
  Thirteen manic muthfuckin years!