[Intro: Apocalipps]
DJ Storm, Another fucking mix creation
Fuck it, Let's do it again
Let's go, Uhh, Apocalipps let's go
Ruthless let's go, Yeah, Staten Island let's go

[Apocalipps]
The only Mack 10 you know is married to T-Boz
My Mack 10 spits slugs that'll wet your Levis
I see yall, Little niggas tryna get your weight up
Just do your thing little man, Try not to get ate up
By these niggas that hold pounds and ice picks and razors
They act like Nicholas in the cage and tare your face off
When I dropped out of high school, I think I was a sophomore
Don't ask me why, Ask that witness why she call the cops for
Bustin block busters that big to blow your block off
Apocalipps is back in this bitch, Go head and pop off
I dare you, Nah I take that back, I double dare you
Double pump and tare you and whoever the fuck is near you
I run with a bastard clique, A bastard since six
Cause my moms was a bastard bitch
I mastered this, Hardcore you asked for this
You wanna die for that watch is what I ask your wrist
And gats'll click, Cooperate, Pack your frits
I find out you holdin out man, Your ass is hist
Now blast this bitch, And leave em with the crabs and the fish
Apacalipps, And I can show you how to practice a stick
Practice you dicks, My rap style is practically sick
I got some Ray Lewis slugs that could tackle your six
You rappers aint shit, If you a rap, Rap with your bricks
I lock the city down and flood the big apple with Knicks
And I might spit some foul shit you might not like
Ayo Storm, You know you my favorite white boy right
And I never caught a body on a track but I'm about to
I heard you spit fire so I'ma smack flames out you
Take your frame out you, Your spirit, The lame out you
I doubt you, Got skills to bring it like Lipps
The only rapper with his ass sewn close and still shits
Ill spit at your house, Fuck that, I'll spit at your spouse
The reason why my breath stinks is cause I shit out my mouth
Yall niggas smile in my face but I know yall wanna get me
Cause my dimes are so big, You could chop em and sell fifties
And that green shit that I sell is too sticky
You could break it down and start sellin quarters for two-fifty
I'm too shifty, Too thorough, And too picky
I'm too ghetto, Two blowjobs with two hickies
Two, Bottles of Henney and Remy, But now I'm pissy
Too tipsy, Stick-up kids, They wanna get me
They must be stupid, But my gun'll make em smart
Like let me leave that nigga alone before he put one in my heart
Or two in my brain, Staten Island goin insane
The four-four got force like a runaway train
If you don't like what they playin, That don't mean that you hatin
That's how I feel so I made my own radio station
Get you hit up from a black Range Rover
When Radio Takeover 2 drop you know the game is over

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