[Chorus: Cappadonna]
  Pain is love, that's what this nigga told me
  I keep washin' my face with blunts and O.E
  Mix coke with dust, still can hold me
  What made ya muthafuckas think you control me?
  
  [Lounge Mode]
  Staten Island been wildin', so Osama's nothing
  And my niggaz out in Brooklyn said Saddam was frontin'
  Gotta squad, what you think, it ain't no guns or something?
  Picture Me Rollin', holdin' less than a one or somethin'
  You fake faggots, yeah we got that big automatic
  Like, Bruce Willis and the Jackal type, yeah, right
  You wanna see it? Then get on my nerves
  Oh you live, and I'm gettin' money spit on my curb
  In the hood where it get no harder, only tougher
  Crack fiends suffer, baby moms, baby brother
  Hustlin', still forty off a hundred packs
  I'd rather lounge in the back of the bar
  Me and my dog throw crack in the jar
  Listen to this rap star, while I sit back in the car
  And I told ya'll niggaz how the Staten rock
  We don't, trick on chicks, yo we clap them shots
  You get caught if you ask a lot, like you don't know
  And where you at, then ya ass is got
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [Solomon Childs]
  We bringin' back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic
  Conceived with slow jams by The Delfonics
  At a level that you should of been years ago
  Responsible usually for coke traffic, usually for broken bone tragic
  Rest in peace, to Mayor Guliani's term
  They say I'm wrong, shit
  I'm try'nna see 26, with my daughters at the Emmy Awards
  All around the ball glowin', they got the weed flow droughted
  Or maybe niggaz in the hood just ain't 'bout it
  Talkin' Hercules, and ain't nothin' but dog food
  Staten Island, New York City drools
  Crazy glue on my fingerprints
  Name on the concrete of my hood, what's really good?
  Vendetta's with these rap stars
  Frontin' like this crime and the pet is they cars
  Believe I was God in my last life
  What if it was your knife? What if they was your gloves, nigga..
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [Cappadonna]
  Aiyo, I came into this game on some real love shit
  And ya'll bitch ass niggaz, ya'll wanted me to quit
  Because the way I dress ill and the way that I spit
  But I ain't never gon' stop, droppin' these joints
  And ya'll fake ass niggaz, ya'll ain't gettin' no points
  Don't try to sabotage me, cuz you just can't do it
  You had me in the Square, last year, but you blew it
  Big Donna from the group home, that's my word
  Splash shots at your whip, splash shots at your bird
  Leave your brains and your Gucci boots up on the curb
  Pillage for life, Allah's will be the most superb
  Smoke weed with the cannon, smoke the herb
  So bow down, all you crab ass clowns you can't live
  My gun's on empty, but it's more shots to give
  I pop you like a slave cop, run in your crib
  Throw darts at your wife, throw darts at your kid
  Leave your house flooded with hits like O.J. did
  Escapin' the crime scene and you love how I slid
  
  [Chorus]