Prepare, cuz I got my glasses off and I’m wild for the night / beware, cuz I got a bone I’m gonna pick and I’ma sick it on the mic like / everybody wanna claim to be a baler or a thug these days so I get ‘em with the Splitscreen / like a trip beam, bringing Maylay to the balance, hip-hop hijacked and attacked with the blitzkrieg /
Now black gloves and mask and black beanie to pull over my naps / plus a duffel bag full of nick-knacks to sabotage traps / told my lady ‘fore I left this be the last lick / and if I make it back, you know the hideout so meet me there /

Romping, stomping in my big black boots and bailing back over PCH / I give a call to Optimist for a list of the vics and the blueprints laid over the beats he makes / before I sneak in the gate and get ready / lock and load, gotta keep control and remain steady / paging Maylay for the ricochet staged engaged to break the levee in the getaway Chevy, and now /

Gotta make my move, Johnny splits, and he’s in position / as I slide through the kitchen, cook hat and an apron / this club got any and everything you can dream of / big balling banquet for mob figures behind curtains /

Well, I better get my ass on / 11:35, I get inside and put this black ski mask on / where my eardrums pick up the insidious filth of bigotry in some perpetrator’s rap song / but that’s gone now, and I’m hearing a commotion going on above as I run up the stairwell / through the double doors to the dance floor where the crowd lays in a panic when I empty out a gun shell / don’t move, put your hands up like you’re praising the Lord, we got hip-hop for ransom / and if any one of you cumquats wanna catch a buckshot, we’ll be giving ‘em out like assassins / so, I know it’s sad we had to come to this, but I’ll be leaving you with some relief / cuz when the rain comes down, it’s gonna pour hella hard like Death’s running things and he’s coming in threes / freeze /

Nobody move nobody get hurt / stay down / we came to jack back the sound from you corporate clowns / Jig, you’ve had it for a long time now / but hand the culture over ‘fore I put this tool in your mouth /

Now we gone, Maylay grabs the backpack as we turn around, checking out the time we got left, running out the doorway like a track meet / hit the alleyway into the getaway / Optimist drive / and we grab a change of clothes in the back seat / speeding through the red lights, swerving past stop signs / popo on are tail cuz Jiggy Goblin called to drop dimes / but I got mines (hell yeah), and you got yours, now we gotta take it back to the archives /

Everybody throw your cell cuz it’s a tracking device / shaking the Ice Mob and Jig in the nick of time / headed for the freeway pass, underneath change rides / Moses T. stashed the van so we hopped inside / rolling through the underground to escape the ghetto bird (right) / 405, sound surprised, thank God no one lost their life / pay the local PD so we can sleep at night / cuz even the sheriff’s daughter’s a fan of Seekret Socyetee /