Yeah it`s only right the Bad Guy hook up with the Bad Girl...
Aha! It`s Tha Row World Order baby
Vegas, drop the heat, c`mon... we back!
[Chorus x3: Crooked I & Phobia]
Death Row`s back (here we go again)
Death Row`s back (you better get off the Block nigga)
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
And we wearing a smile, nuff areas style, who can bury us now?
Listen, (DEATH ROW`s BACK) Ghetto America`s child
I`m looking down on you, as if I was Darius Miles
I`m an abusive cat, leading cops on an elusive chase
We make music only fools embrace
We can feud dude, choose the place
I keep a tool in waist, lil dude I remove your face, uhh
Finally, you minor league and we major
Major change the way you make your music ain`t a gangsta
Gave the gangsta flava they bang in their CD changer
Came to reign within, the game is in danger
Banging hits that ain`t even been rivalled
I, carry a rifle, I cherish survival
I`m, the Bad Guy that`s my area title
And Suge`s the real Simon, so fuck +American Idol+
And we banging the R, that`s the Row, Death Row we raising the bar
Tell em (Death Row`s back!) getting braids in the car
Look at Crooked damn hard work made him a star
Plus meanwhile my team scheme wild for cream
I hustle like I got nineteen mouths to feed
So leave out the scene, speed-down the cops
Or you`ll bleed out your spleen we bring out them thieves
This trick is quick to hit ya with some clips to split ya
I`d rather hit ya with some hits than be a permanent fixture
The clips spit, we spit sick, get the picture?
Cos if you spit sicker then niggaz it`d get you richer
And for my enemies I don`t care much
They like some ugly ass bitchs taking pictures getting airbrushed
They not who they appear to be, we beating wimps up
I knock a pimp straight down out of his Pimp Cuff
[Crooked I adlibs]
And I demands my love, throw ya hands high join the Bad Guy club
(Death Row`s back!) why share my thug
Especially when thugging is my anti-drug
Get merked like it`s nothing, that`s goon talk
Give me three feet you bustaz better moon-walk
Oh yeah we cop the benz, drop the chevvy on them monster rims
While y`all can rock milk-chocolate timbs
Glock shots chop ya limbs, I sock your chin
I`m something different baby who can cop block the skills?
Not your man, you know I got my heater with me
Leavin` you in need of a kidney, come on and sing it with me...
[Outro over chorus: Phobia]
Get off Tha Block.. haha... get off his dick
Yeah, Crooked I nigga... that`s right
The realest, the realest Record label nigga...