Boston to Bucktown

You ain't buzzing, cousin
Ten out of twelve is a dime a dozen
There's nothing we discussing
It's hate like Czechian and Russian
The beat's heat, got Pete on production
His percussion, Special Teamz introduction
The path is laid
You're rolled under construction
Can't feel what we touching
Duck down, Boston to Bucktown

One flash of the rats who are gon' catch it
Put my life on the line, who want match it?
Duck down, so classic, you maggots
When you see it on the
Racks, you can't pass it, you snatch it
Gangster rappers don't package a AK
Just a whole lot of
Mouth flip-flapping and yapping
We don't make threats we can't make happen
In a jet-black Benz with a MAC-10 for action

I was scared and paranoid
Thinking of tapping my phone
I went berserk, I'm in it homie
Now I'm back in my zone
But still my eyes red, bugging and bloodshot
Irish irises, a mirror image of street
Corners and drug spots still phenomenal
I will spill the illest chronicles
On pages, rashing with the rational rages
My passion, it weighs
Plays on international stages
The swagger's ill
The sound's still classic and ageless

This is Buckshot, the dot com don
Heat in my palm, six minutes and uh uh I'm on
My way to the top, the rise like smoke
No, not broke, nigga, my rise no joke
I just ride the subway and hide the stuff
'cause hey i love it when I see my
Niggas who thugging and praised
Giving props to beady eyes
See me fly in the billboard over Popeye's
Like yeah, papa

Black people unite, let's all get down
'Fore I slap people tonight with
The long train pound
I got a ratchet, sleep with my gun
Full metal jacket
On some bullshit since James
Brown made Static sick in the head with the
Bomb bitch in the bed
Hit it raw, what for? Shit
I'm sick in the head
Sean Price on the phone while
I buzz to Beantown a dollar and a dream
Come holler the team now p!