Texty: Buc Fifty. Other. Go For Mine.

(feat. Cut Father, Mad Child)

[Talking: Cut Father]
Yeah, from the top..I dont think they know
But as if you didnt know by now
Ill Brothers, Swollen Members, (Buc Fifty),T2B Fam
It never stop...Too many ducks in the game now
Its about...time we evaporate all you muh'fuckers for real
No doubt, We live to spit the real (yeah) We live to spit the real (uh)

[Cut Father]
Line fanatic
Attack rhymes leave damaging foes
Who appose Cut Father
Couldnt manage to erase me out the game
Southeast 6-1-9 battle veteran
Into competition I
Victimize verb spray, ghetto wordplay
Take shit back to the days of K-day
Ready rock, Babylonga chest non-stop
World domination fuck curves serve ya' block
South Pacific, Scientific cause panic
Spittin' lines to rep for the flaw see eyed planet
Ya homosexual rap cats can scratch that
Gun play for gays fake thugs fake ways
Thoughts are generated never scared to start spittin'
Dont hear nothing but the music im slippin'
Ill Brothers..ever evolving ducks fallin'
Into rhyme relapse these rugged tracks
Mad Child (blaze) spittin real pine chalk
In memory of Rob One cuz he cant be stopped

[Chorus: Scratched]

[Mad Child]
Swingin' the axe
Bringin the pain while I'm bringing the facts
Keep climbing cuz I'm working while these others relax
Rippin' tracks with Cut Father no bother half steppin'
Mad Child and Buc Fifty thats 3 deadly weapons
Reppin' the West
Staple a Maple Leaf to my chest
Thats 16 bars between stars and stripes
Used to go to malls and fight
Now I stay up all night
Thinking...mapping out my future cuz my families tight
We keep it thorough
I get inside ya head just like a neuro-surgeon
There's some my origin it's discouragin
No fadin' this Canadian Hurricane
Keep flourishin' doubt this how's this?
I put my money where my mouth is
Jobs for North and South
You dont know nothing about this
Partners starting to label
Label the rock for the unstable
Terrifying talents
Of the mentally unbalanced
King of skull-crushing confusion
That welcomes any challenge

[Chorus]

[Buc Fifty]
I can handcuff lightning throw thunder in jail
Hold tornadoes in the palm of both hands without bail
For fade-away diggin bomb...I am phenomo-nail
If I layed on train tracks I'd make that shit da-rail
Hold still I'm so ill I make medicine sick
Killa bricks so my head split while I'm playing with this
Stylin' till I'm ill I'm good and well done with it
You a broke wrist rapper with a full flavor pack of
Jimmy on the breath sugar footed crew dat back ya'
Gimme a reason to step up to ya fools and jack-jackas
Backpackas out-ac-actors that can stacksa casual factors
While I keep ya whack whackers

[Chorus]