Sangtekst: Clipse. Lord Willin. Famlay Freestyle.

It ain't nothin'' y'all can teach me
I been locked up more times than sweet pea
See I'm from Norfolk here's a coffin if ya sleepy
Turn ya children into orphans tryna sneak me
Or tryna creep me, the realist shit I ever spoke
So I'ma spit it when I finish, I'ma slit my throat
This shit is like 2-11 mixed wit coke
Leave you spinning like the tennis balls in ya spoke, nigga

Dark secrets, man I won't lie
They came to the light a man is gon' die
All hope is lost and FamLay's gon' fry
'Cause I did shit the average man just wont try
Like what, war against an army wit a hand gun
I'm FamLay and when my fucking chance come
I'm running wit it, on e'ry song I'm coming wit
See some you think you can take from me, then come and get it

See I'm from Huntersville, e'ry thang we done is real
My niggas come in here, my niggas come to kill
And I dare y'all to try and diss us
See you in the streets it ain't nothing discuss
Man, we gon' stomp yo ass dead in the ground
Few weeks, couple bodies wit no head'll be found, nigga
Cut off ya wrists, and they feet no prints
(Gangsta)
Now I'm in the Six, wit the heat no tints, you see me boy
(Gangsta)

In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
Niggas, bang, bang, bitches, bang, bang

In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
In Virginia, them guns go, bang, bang
Niggas, bang, bang, bitches, bang, bang