Where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at

I got seven Mack 11's, about eight 38's

Nine 9's, ten mack tens, the shits never ends

You can't touch my riches

Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches

Biggie Smalls; the millionare, the mansion, the yacht

The two weed spots, the two hot glocks

That's how I got the weed spot

I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread

Little Gotti got the shotty to your body

So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas

I tote guns, I make number runs

I give mc's the runs drippin

when I throw my clip in the AK, I slay from far away

Everybody hit the D-E-C-K

My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Matteo

Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffed the yeyo

That's crazy blunts, mad L's

My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells

Oh my God, I'm droppin shit like a pigeon

I hope you're listenin, smackin babies at they christening