[-mchild] [chorus x2]

associating with bullshit, got me gon´ madd.
associating with stupid hoes, got me gon´ madd.
you fuck with your boy, somebody throw me some caps,
somebody like anything before i kick somebody´s ass.

[m-child]

i need green, like don king, need a haircut,
so i got with the ´kaze ´cause they be hooking shit up.
we hellified music, i got the vocals to do it,
since a nigga got capped, a nigga kinda got used to it.
up there on the mic, got you hyped; rocking your head.
making so much noise, a nigga wake up the dead.
keep an eye on you niggas that want a loaf of my bread,
pop on the infrared, pop it back and fill you with lead.
nigga, you can test my nuts, ´cause they thought i was fake,
now they (mad?) ´cause if they got some go-go-gadget roller skates.
but me, you can´t escape, ´cause now i´m in your radio,
better take me out, press pause, or fast-forward, hoe.
i´ve gon´ madd, madd enough to buy you some plast´,
call the school; bomb threat, got my niggas outta class.
i want it all, so i hussle try not to fall,
you try to take it or make it, your whole world pause.

[chorus x2]

[m-child]

and to you niggas in the rap game, shit we gon´ start,
fuck around and how you hoes doin´ shows as we got,
i feel ridiculous; clocked my gift from st. nicholas,
hard-core lyricist, rough is how i´m bringin´ it.
kamikaze thuggin´ it, niggas they be jockin´ it,
fall up in the club, groupie hoes, they be lovin´ it.
heat on my hip incase a nigga get cold,
i´ma leave the hoe froze, plucked out with bullet hoes.
money-maker, mark my word, m-child, the top dog;
test nuts if a nigga jump like a fucking frog.
you better make way, give me room before i stray,
bombs tied around my chest, blow this bitch to outer space.
i ain´t playing with you, and i ain´t fucking with your needle.
them mound niggas crazy, we chiefin´ the reefer.
my niggas cappin´ the geef, big bush, knockin´ out teeth,
eliminate beef, i think they gone and they deep.

[chorus x2]

[m-child]

now don´t let me get deep, and rap until you fall asleep,
smoke on the optimo and big game, like a crooked priest.
if a nigga got beef, yo, we can take it to the streets,
put a bomb in your pager and watch it blow into chow beef.
i creep with a hundred motherfuckers out late,
smokin´ dope, sippin´ syrup, not the kind you eat with pancakes.
taking over shit, do whatever for the cheese,
i need a bladder in the water a bitch need to breathe.
zero tolerance, step out a lyin´ ass whoopin´,
you gonna be in hot water like noodles when they be cooking.
overlookin´ my style, sick, making niggas vomit,
my clan comin´ through and we clean up they comet.
now you can look, but don´t touch, why you on it, i know you want it,
that m-child nigga, you won´t him dead, don´t he?
if you just clear my weave, it´s gon´ be something bad,
you fucking with the wrong one, my nigga, i´m gon´ madd.

[chorus x2]