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
[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
[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!