[Intro: Trick Trick]
This one is dedicated to the #1 rap group ever
Run-D.M.C. and Jam Master Jay
1-3-1-3! AND I SAYYYYYYYY!
Party people, your dreams have now been fulfilled
Detroit is in this motherfuckin building
Big Proof, Esham, Trick Trick, Kid Rock
LET’S GO! (LET’S GO!)
Together, get cheddar, get cheddar, forever
Retire from this game I’ma have to say never
We bakin, it’s cakin, your life’ll get taken
Don’t be a eyewitness if I’m not mistaken
You snitchin, just listen, niggaz cookin in the kitchen
A murder was committed, I was fittin the description
A Detroit nigga scandelous, I’m an assassin
Trick Trick ain’t gotta hit ’em, I already blast ’em
My name is P (P!) I’m from the D (D!)
The area code (code!) is 3-1-3 (3!)
I run with Trick (Trick!) I (Kid) with Rock (Rock!)
I love Detroit (‘troit) and every block (block!)
I’m down by laws, screamin fuck the law (law!)
D12 in the house (house) we the best you saw (saw!)
With a Sqwad of Goons (Goons!) out drinkin boons (boons!)
The real street riders still reppin click-boom!
Ohhhhhhhhh I’m the crook that rocks, with thugs and cops
The blacks the whites, the whys and nots
The young the old, the bold and the wicked
Now who here got his Kid Rock tickets?
I can’t fix, what isn’t broke
So mix me up another Jim Beam and Coke
Pass the J (J!) chop one out
Cause that’s what a muh’fucker’s all about!
Detroit riders RIDE! We gettin bread, we LIVE!
Blowin pounds of FIRE! You can’t fade us, WHY?
We players NOW! These haters DIE!
We got them killers in spots dwellin and K’d up
(I) keep my riders close by when most lie
Fake niggaz waitin, debatin, but see they don’t try
Fo’-five bustin that chopper hot as a pope lyin
Clean from the scene investigated with no ties
Esham the rap god, Trick Trick and Goon Sqwad
Get any nigga in the industry balloon popped
We waited too long, these bitches won’t play our songs
But when the DJ’s get they brains blown they screamin “Y’all wrong”
It’s a cold world, so the slugs is like Freon
Dope boy in the hood, hat with the D on
And still I kill at will until the body count pile up
And fuck the industry until they bring 7 Mile up
Pile up the suckers I kill after I’m drillin ’em
My pockets stay real deep, cash keep fillin ’em
Triple 7-93-11, that’s for Em and them
Any competition that’s hot, to hell we sendin them
I’m known to get busy and my name is Proof
They tried to lock up Trick and didn’t have no proof
Hook up the mic and a beat, I’ll flow some’in
The godfather capo was me, I’m cold crushin
Catch my drift? Here’s my point
I’m laid and paid and made in Detroit
The old Mount Clemens, basement bandit
The only real mack left on the planet
You sell CD’s at 2 bucks a pop
I make 300 G’s every time the bus stops
The Kid, Proof, Esham and Trick
And if you don’t dig that you can suck my dick!