[Hook x2]
It's the infamous back in the house once again
Live the life that of diamonds and guns and now gems
Pull gats like a basehead pull on stems
The Mobb got the bomb run out and tell a friend
Drop a gem on em

{* repeats throughout song: If some rain, if some rain has got to fall *} x3

[Verse 1: Havoc]
Sick and tired of you fake crooks, need to retire
They got you gassed, take a match and smack fire out ya
Maggot ass, Havoc represent for the Q-B-C
Smoke that ass like a loosey
Though I need to quit, fuck it, I love it like a cloud
Over the projects, your game I'm above it
It's combat, gats, bangers and all that
You's a small cat, whatever you on get off that
I mention, nothing but the real shit presenting
The hollow tip crew, 41st side convention
Stride full, you half-stepping
Like a fresh Tec out of the box, yo niggas I'm testing
That's no question, bitch-ass have you confessing
Like a DT, left in state of depression
You under pressure, in tag no doubt catcher
The snitch-snatcher, shooken with asthma, you casper
You yell my name, that's only giving me props
Plus the fans that you got wondering what's got you hot
It's too not, knocked out the box and got rocked
Got raped on the Island, you officially got
Kick that thug shit, Vibe magazine on some love shit
Keep it real kid, cause you don't know who you fucking with

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Prodigy]
Yeah likewise, I'm tired of rap guys that's faggots
Your P'll shut eyes and swole up your whole outside
I baptize, niggas get wet, hit up your backside
Get claptized and set straight, put on your head straight
Watch out for these upstate cats
Be leary of New Yiddy niggas with gats, with the wall on they back
Rikers Island flashbacks of the house you got scufted in
You would think that getting your head shot's enough but then
Now you wanna go at my team
Must have been drunk when you wrote that shit
Too bad you had to did it to your own self
My rebellion, retaliate, I had the whole New York state
Aiming at your face at the gate
Bottom line off top soon as you came through
Shots flew, don't even know the half of my crew
I got a hundred strong arm niggas ready to rock your shit
Clocks tick, your days are numbered in low digits
You look suspicious, suspect niggas is bitches
Get chopped up, Grade A meat, something delicious
And laced back up, 2 G's worth of stitches
To reconstruct your face and learn how to speak again
My mob's like a bunch of wild Puerto Ricans
With bangers the size of African spears, it's warfare
In the arena, we turn arenas into house of horrors
Its terrodome, when you see my clique you need to run behind shit
You got a gat you better find it
And use that shit, think fast and get reminded
Of robberies in Manhattan, you know what happened
60 G's worth of gun clapping
Who shot ya? You probably screamed louder than an opera
New York got ya, now you wanna use my mob as a crutch
What you think you can't get bucked again?
Once again

[Hook]