Uh. Sweatin in the kitchen cookin 3 chickens I`m Chef Boyardee when it comes to a key 43 OZ`s is what I see everytime fa sho latex glove so it don`t get into my pores hardcore to the marrow 4-5 barrell Yo my dinero is bein stacked an packed away for a rainy day I slang caine mayne through the Bay Hey! A-K`s is packed on the regular funk my competitors and the predators who like to plot my riches and my misses but she packs a duce-duce Gucchi really misses suspicious niggas didn`t flip the pain you couldn`t watch Scarface to get this game or the Godfather or New Jack City I`m from the crew with no pity the 60`s like Ripley`s `Believe It Or Not` I`m top notch sippin on scotch on rocks and it won`t stop I stay down an ready for my fedi no matter the cost the Chevy I floss see Eddie`s the boss I get crossed by the pigs I can smell the sweet aroma you didn`t know 6-9 was in no cahoots try to warn ya about fuckin wit my paper route I got major clout throughout the south the north the west and the east it`s the Seag struttin nigga gettin more than a piece of the pie the sky`s the limit it`s the authentic 6-9 apostile makin niggas seek the gospal.
Chorus *(Yukmouth, Dru Down)*
Nigga. What would you do if you ain`t got your strap? Would you get yo ass jacked? [Like this, like that?] Nigga. What would you do if you ain`t got your strap? Would you give up yo scratch? [Blap, blap!] Ha. What would you do if you ain`t got your strap? Would you get yo ass slapped? [Like this, like that?] Bitch. What would you do if you ain`t got your strap? Would you nut up and scrap? [Blap, blap!]
Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)*
I`m goin out like Tupac shootin 2 cops in the ass crack when ever the task jack the turf I be the first to blast back make that ass BACDAFUCUP like Onyx I puff up chronic, that make ya vomit like Ginatonic (you know me!) Gold D`s on trophies every summer can`t see me might wonder if I`m ballin on the unda I never be givin a fuck, but quick to get my grind on (trick) the nigga who slips is who I`m quick to pull my 9 on Sheeit! Now break it down, down break it can`t make it, so I take his grip and leave him pistol whipped stripped butt naked I cooks up bricks of A-1 Yola the soldier til it`s ova slappin bitches wit the Motorola I know a busta, you know a busta too juss a few on my shit list to get licked you mutha fucka you shoulda known the game was deep now around the East Bound we`ll buck you up and fuck you up to see you six feet deep now.
Verse 3 *(Dru Down)*
I`m juss an East Side Soldier born at Kaiser ever since then I have been on the rise up came out the diaper from a switch to a big stick I`m in the mix and yes I`m like steadily foldin the grip bitch Whoo! I want you to know that I`m Down I`m Down in the Town I`m drawin down I`m Dru Down On who now? And niggas wantin to do who? But niggas couldn`t do me if they wanted to I`m out to pull you Whoo! Who? You. Who? You you`se an owl mutha fucka now what fool? Another sucka put in the gutta came the wrong way I accidentaly had the A-K and sprayed I shot he shot hella shocked he thought it was a plot (He didn`t know I got stripes on my side) Why not? Lame to the game no skills that`s real no glory in the East Side Soldier story.
Verse 4 *(Pooh Man)*
Masked murderer psychopathic villian my dick is on hard when your guts start spillin put my glock caulk your body drop let off 7 shots and my lead is hot tore through your vest ate through your flesh all 7 in your chest and your laid to rest nigga don`t you know, ain`t no room for guessin class is in session meet Mr. Smith & Wesson watch the bodies all drop when they hit your block it`s when you know when I reach for my chop no need for drama cry for mama I`ma hit you wit this lazer beam sight and take you life after the lead melts through you cranium entering you mind like titanium Yeah! Your punk ass potna shoulda told ya you done fucked up an ran into an East Side Soldier.
*(Chorus)* 2x
*(Dru Down outro)*
Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Blap! Hahahahahaha! International Blunt Funk biatch. Rilla than real!
