I be Grand like Puba, but I’ll move smooth with Dru Ha
Puts the B in (booyah), Starang coming to (do ya)
Scream hallelujah, but it still won’t help ya
Run from O.G.C. and get caught by Heltah Skeltah
(Jet) to the other side, run for cover, hide
Niggas still wouldn’t be safe even if I let ‘em slide
But this ain’t baseball, I’ll waste y’all, ask no question
Get attacked from the back by the black Smif-N-Wessun
I be rubbishing any crew that claims that they be bubbling
Get that ass capped like them niggas when they’re handling
My publishing I be loving when fake rappers
Question my status when my crew be the fattest
At this, and you could ask my man the Big Kahuna
Ka-plow now make you say “yow” like Junior
(You’ve been warned) Da Storm’s in the atmosphere
Move over, make room — Gunn Clappaz here
‘Cause it’s ill how I kick lyrical skills with the force
No joke when I leave you choking off of the exhaust
Of course, who else could it be but Mr. Strangle?
Hit that ass from every angle — they don’t really wanna tangle