We, the, Outlawz (Prison in America)

Yeah, (If you think there′s no justice, think again)

Hey yo. I think ya'll gonna like this next song(I think they do)

When this song drop, y′all gots to go crazy

I want all the West Coast people to give up some love

When this song come on (Ya'll got to go crazy)

They tried to ban this song (Everybody)

They don't wanna play my song

But they wanna play fat boy over here

What? Come on, come on (Take money)

Come on, come on (Take money)

Come on, come on (What′s up)

First off, f- and the clique you claim

Westside when we ride, come equipped with game

You claim to be a player, but I f- your wife

We bust on Bad Boys, niggas f- for life

Plus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip

Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. is some mark-ass bitches

We keep on comin′ while we runnin' for your jewels

Steady gunnin′, keep on bustin' at them fools, you know the rules

Lil′ Caesar, go ask your homie how I'll leave ya

Cut your young up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased

Lil′ Kim, don't f- around with real G's

Quick to snatch yo′ off the streets, so f- peace

I′ll let them n- know it's on for life

Don′t let the Westside ride tonight (ha ha ha)

Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed

F- with me and get yo' caps peeled, you know

See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn′t finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

N-, I hit ′em up! Yes, yo' aha, Outlawz ey

Check this out

West Coast, West fo' life, what′s up, hit me

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo

Biggie Smalls just got shot

Little Moo′, pass the MAC

And let me hit him in his back

Frank White needs to get spanked right for settin' traps

Little accident murderer

And I ain′t never heard of ya

Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin′ ya

Spank ya, shank ya whole style when I gank

Guard your rank 'cause I′ma slam your a- in the paint

P- weaker than the f- ' block I'm runnin′ through, n-

And I′m smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, n-

With the ready power

Tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer

I push packages every hour, I hit ′em up!

When you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish

Now you ′bout to feel the wrath of a menace

Nigga, say what?

Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel

This ain't no freestyle battle, all you n- gettin′ killed

With your mouths open

Tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin'

Smokin' dope, it′s like a sherm high

N- think they learned to fly

But they burn, you deserve to die

Talkin′ about you gettin' money, but it′s funny to me

All you n- livin' bummy, why you f- with me?

I′m a self-made millionaire

Thug livin', out of prison, pistols in the air (ha ha)

Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch

And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?

Now it′s all about Versace, you copied my style

Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled

Now I'm back to set the record straight

With my AK, I′m still the thug that you love to hate

I′m from N-E-W Jers' where plenty of murders occurs

No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs

Now go check the scenario: Lil′ Cease

I'll bring you fake G′s to your knees, coppin' pleas in de Janeiro

Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up?

Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up

What the, is you stupid

I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn

With my click lootin′, shootin' and pollutin' your block

With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot

Outlaw MAFIA clique movin′ up another notch

And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped

All your fake-ass East Coast props brainstormed and locked

You′s a beat biter, a Pac style taker

I'll tell you to your face you ain′t shit but a faker

Softer than Alize with a chaser

About to get murdered for the paper

E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper

Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke

Gun totin′ smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin′ joke

Better be knowin'

We approachin' in the wide open, gun smokin′

No need for hopin′, it's a battle lost

I got ′em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin' off

I hit ′em up, what, what? Huh, huh, yeah

We hit 'em up

Grab your glocks when you see Tupac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn′t finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

Hit 'em up, that′s right!

(Take money, take money)