[Intro: Styles P]
Bullpen, G-Host, D-Block

[Verse 1: Styles P]
If I say so myself, we the best
When the lead pop, it's headshots, you don't need a vest
D-Block, LOX, we don't see the rest
My blade cut a thousand n***as, that's a key of flesh
You either (-) or (-) squeeze the TECs
I blow a smoke with the Ghost, bars speakin' death
I keep her wet, straight cash, yo, I'm 'bout paper
Pay (-) bars, every line another (-)
Bullpen style, kill you now, rhyme later
I clip from a block away, nine with the laser
They can hate us, but they know they can't never play us
We heat-sprayers, plus you know the streets made us
Live life to the fullest because death is waitin'
Too wild of an animal for domesticatin'
Get a room full of rabbits and I'm defecatin'
Fully-loaded gun, no hesitatin'
I heard your gangsta rapper name resonatin'
We don't believe you, you'll never make it
Discipline - the term meant dedicated
Educated, actin' on medicated
Weed high, liquor high, drug dealers, stick-up guys
LOX, Wise Guys Enterprise
You ain't got to cop it, we got you, you could rent a pie
God, forgive me for contributin' in genocide
The cranberry Beamer, MAC-10 and the nina
Smokin', visions of Mecca and Madīnah
Mobster, kill you, send a fixer and a cleaner
[Chorus: Bullpen]
You look scared, lil' n***a
Don't start hangin' 'round here, lil' n***a
This shit'll get you the chair, lil' n***a
We makin' ourself clear, lil' n***a

[Verse 2: Bullpen]
N***a, we in here, it's me and (-), lodge 'em out the bullpen
Remember gettin' processed, sittin' in that bullpen
Thinkin' to myself, 'If n***as rattin' and some bullshit
I'm comin' home dumpin' out that clappin'-up-your-hood shit'
I had dreams of gettin' hood rich
This year, approachin' six figures, life good, bitch
And I admit, yeah, I love fuckin' a hood bitch
Give her good dick, she ridin' out with that wood grip
The front page of them tabloids
About paper, known for movin' grams and mad toys
Real n***a never back down, quit the fight
I lose, I'm like (-) when he told (-), 'Hit the lights'
Speak the truth, know these frontin' n***as can't stand facts
Pops taught me Santa Clause wore a Klansman's hat
And he rolled through the night like the Klu Klux
So I flipped Os of the white for a few bucks
Yeah, I guess I see what they can't
Do what they won't, then have what they don't
Ride to work raw, where the work, y'all, I sit and curse, y'all
Lodge the bullpens, Clayton Kershaw
Lookouts in the buildin', play the first floor
Yeah, it's D-Block, n***a, we come with the pain
Gonna cause straightjackets and shackles and chains
If it's drama, come and get you, ain't callin' your name
We roll up on you like them n***as that howl in pain