[Intro: Pike] Yo, hold up, yo you know what.. S.I., Staten Island, niggaz, yo, yo
[Pike] Ain't no more talkin' money or fame I'm stalkin' this game, and when I'm done I'm stickin' the fork in this game and run clutchin' my gun Name P.I., place S.I., N.Y.C Caramel papi chulo, mammies vena que Let's see if you could stop me I beat it like a one man posse, I leave it wet and sloppy I'm cocky, at times laid back, like to keep my fade back A lot of niggaz about to get paid back (HOOOOO!) Because a lot cats that don't like me I guess they thought I took it lighty But I rhyme and make you niggaz wanna fight me I'll melt a nigga like a icey, and wipe 'em up with a towel Still on the prowl, how bout? It's Staten Isle, I'm foul The same time I got respect for what's real Who said Staten Island niggaz ain't real? You dead wrong, and took you tied up with a red thong For goin' against The Struggle We squeeze on the team, crash your huddle
[Lounge Mode] Well I'm known in the hood like Castellano You could see me in the fiddy, puffin' H. Armano Doin' eighty on the Belt', follow signs to Verrazano I keep two guns in my hood like paisano My style iller than ill, I'm sick like Alzheimer's A bugged cat, ready to bring back old drama If it wasn't for the Slash, what could I tell mamma God damn, it's bad blood between brick and the mud (HOOOOO!) Brick and the thugs, shittin' on love Turned over on the newest, start spittin' the snub My flow is nice and I ain't worried about them hoes at night For my wife and seeds, gotta get this dough shit right I'm analyzin', a look how the pro's get ripe And number 16, yeah, I want it showin' the lights I rep the hood, gotta respect the good Even the ones that left the hood, bitch!
[Chorus: Lounge Mode (all) w/ ad-libs] Car hard suits, Timb boots and millimeters (We got this, we got this) Hoes and fancy cars and smokin' reefers Cellies and beepers (we got this) Hoodies and sneakers (we got this)
[Remedy] Yo, it's the smoked out white boy back on the block With the thirty eight snubbed nosed, tucked in his sock From the H-Block, Huegonaut, part of the rock Shaolin, Staten Isle, and I love hip hop And when it comes to the kid, man, shit ain't easy I Lounge with the Cappa D. and L.O. Beezy (I see you!) You sees me? Yeah, yo, believes me The Code:Red for life click, racoons need me Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, I got this Rock this, radio drop this The Code:Red's for real, yo, you can't stop this None of ya'll muthafuckas out there could block this Jumped in the whips, all dipped down low Ready for a trip, to where, I don't know No matter where we go, you can't stop the flow The heat's on, gun's drawn, what's up, yo?
[Cappadonna] Aiyo, my spit never tasted good, I'm sour I spit for the money and I spit for power Then I lean on ya'll like the Eiffel Tower And to my Staten Isle niggaz, that's my heart I might leave for a minute, but could never depart Yeah, I'm married to this bitch and I'm still fuckin' I'm in the hood where the guns is nothin' And niggaz don't say shit, like E.F. Hutton Paranoid like Bush, press the button Don't make me grab the boomers and get disgustin' Poppy Wardrobe King, Code:Red Production Pillage for life niggaz, the hoes that's crushin' To all my niggaz that went out bustin' Grindin', the black Timbs on, wild out, hustlin' (We got this, we got this)