[Intro: Shyheim]
Lil` Jon, take back your cup, son
I`mma smack fire outta one of these niggaz
Runnin` around with cups and shit, with they names on it
...got fuckin` strips... man, listen
It`s the kid, nigga, Shyheim, nigga, what?
Uh-huh, they fucked up and let me out
This Bottom Up, Brock Bros., King Just, Shaolin
[Shyheim]
You don`t get a cup for that sucker shit you doing
I can tell you never had real drama from the way you moving
You easy access, dress up like I work for FedEx
Deliver a bomb in a box to your address
Now you know you ain`t ordered shit, you still gonna open it
Always lookin` for the come up, see, what ya greedy ass hit?
Pine casket and some flowers, and your bitch will be fuckin`
One of my Bottom Up niggaz, give and take a couple hours
June Lov`, with this criminal mentality of ours
To eat, shit, shave, and shower with the culture power
You don`t get a cup, cuz I said you don`t get a cup
You not a gang banger, throwin` your record company sign up
How come nobody on your team, had a gun, when ya man got bodied
Y`all just standin` there, feelin` stupid, lookin` down at his body
And if dead niggaz could talk, I bet he said, y`all pussy, probably
[Chorus: Shyheim]
You don`t get a cup, for them hub cap spinners
You don`t get a cup, cuz you don`t fuck with the winners
You don`t get a cup, cuz you ain`t down with Shaolin
You don`t get a cup, cuz y`all niggaz don`t be wildin`
You don`t get a cup, cuz you ain`t from the grain
And you don`t get a cup, cuz niggaz snatched your chain
You don`t get a cup, cuz you runnin` from me
And you don`t get a cup, cuz I`m the hottest in the street
[Shyheim]
How the fuck Nick Cannon get a cup?
When Nickelodeon kids, don`t even get drink
Your names written in rhinestone, not diamonds
This is for my comrades, with their green cups
Starin` mud up on the Island, gettin` counted
Dogs in the pound, growlin`, hear the moans of the forgotten
Mouth all dry, like we suckin` on cotton
We thristy, so y`all better pray for mercy
The state of mind, hip hop`s in right now, hurts me
Disgust me, everybody`s thugs, gangstas, and p-i-m-ps
We all irregular people, peace
[Chorus]
[Shyheim]
2000 box, New York `ocks, a box of tops
Be in S.A.Q. so long, they call me sock
Who got the drop homey? I got the drop
Runnin` up in the spot, with my 40 cal` glock
The money, jewels and your cup is what I came for
Then I`m lookin` at the front door, like Main Source
Slidin` off in the 0-4, gray porsche
I crucified the game, put the scale on the porch
In memory of my mans, that died for grams
Catch shots, dusted out, with the Wally Champs
Screamin` `fuck everybody`, lickin` shots like stance
[Chorus]
[Outro: Shyheim]
Listen, man, there`s 2 type of people, man
Trend setters and those who follow trends
Man, life is not a gimmick, man
Life is a privalege, see y`all runnin` around here, frontin` man
Like we won`t take your life, B
I`m serious, man, and go sit up in a box
With some child shit, and blow some holes and do pushups, nigga
Make ya chest big, nigga, beat our dick offa something
The black tails, or the butt-mans or something
Keepin` it gangsta man, Bottom Up, Brock Bros
2-0-0-4, to infinity, nigga, remember that
It`s the God, you know?
