Down Bottom
Drag-On f/ Juvenile

Verse 1:
(Drag-On)
Me and my niggas done licked shots, even done hit cops
Betcha niggas can't wait 'til my shit drop
Treat you like yo momma, give yo lip a pop
You don't want my clip to drop
'Cause that means I'm empty and you're full of it
Check what the bullet did
Missiles gonna hit you, get you
Rip through tissue
Shoot another rhyme just 'cause I missed you
I make plus cash
You little niggas can't fuck wit Drag
Got the chain out, so his muscle grabs
Nigga fuck that, you better bust back
'Fore ya monkey-ass land where the dust at
Ride like the girl but you can't trust cash
Spit a line of fire, that you can't touch, black
All you can do is cuss back in your weak raps 'bout how you bust gats
Nigga we don't need that
I don't care about your feedback
Ya'll niggas don't feed Drag
'Til a motherfucker pull out
Bust a bullet out in the safe house
Where the keys at?
Nigga where the stash at, nigga where the weed at?
Nigga pass that 'fore I pull my trigger
Matter fact, where the ass at, 'cause I got to Ruff Ryde
And I ain't talkin' 'bout my niggas
'Cause we can go hoe for hoe, toe to toe, blow for blow
And when you feel your nose crack
That mean I broke that
I fill a po-po with a flame thrower
Like I told you before
Ya know, um, you can't handle
You can put me on wax but my fire burn candles
And who that nigga Ruff Rydin'
Drag-On
Ya'll niggas and Southsiders

Chorus:
Do ya'll niggas bust ya'll guns?
(Hell yeah we bust our guns)
Do ya'll fuck 'em til they cum?
(Damn right we make 'em cum)
It's for the North (hey), South (hey), East (hey), West (hey)
Ruff Ryders gonna show ya'll niggas who ride the best
(repeat)

Verse 2:
(Juvenile)
In the late night
We be cockin' 9, givin' you stage fright
Yo head might
Blow when I bust wit the lead pipe
Nah, say it right
Juvenile, hey, tight
Stay hype
Now page Mike and make sure he got all the yea, aight
I'm tired of these niggas
Be thinkin' that you usin' 'em
Runnin' wit them petty ass niggas
Lookin' like fools and 'em
I'm workin' wit some change, yeah
An ain't afraid to put 50 up on yo brain, yeah
You 'bout warin' over yo people, I'm the same, yeah
Look, I'ma have somebody sayin' that's a shame, yeah
But if them people come, they ain't gon' give no names, yeah
Play wit them number 1 stunners, don't play no game, yeah
Come outside and see nothin', but camoflauge and bricks
Them ghetto boys backed with chains
Tryin' to knock off ya shit
Ya stanky bitch
I'll Ruff Ryde ya ass
Cash in for Money
Juve ain't gettin' nothin'
Ha, ha, ha that shit is funny

Chorus

Verse 3:
(Drag-On)
When my niggas get knocked we gon' bail 'tm out
When it come to my gun my shells is out
You better get the message, 'cause I done mailed it out
That I'ma bang it like a hammer and I'ma nail us out
East, West, and write letters for my niggas up North
My guns made in china, so you better dust off
'Cause when I get ya, you gon' bleed ketchup
I always dot cheddar
I never ass be ya
And I won't even sweat ya
You won't roll four and better
My dough is never low, but if Drag is down on his last
I'ma reach in my sweater, bet my Baretta
Make a nigga feel the heat in the cold weather
Can't stand a nigga hyped over his bitch
Bitch come to my shit, you betta come get her
Be like a dog with a bone I run with her
Ya'll make me so tired
Ya'll niggas still rappin' like you don't know my flow is fire
And ya'll ain't got ya suits, ain't got ya boots
Probably gotta gun that ain't never shoot
When we come you better hope they don't name you
'Cause like two sticks rubbin' I'll flame you
Don't try to be me 'cause I ain't you
'Fore I have your spirit with the angels
My shorty keep a gun on her ankles
Wanna fuck?
Watch out she'll bang you
'Cause I taught her well
Ya'll players better haul to hell
But you niggas couldn't borrow a belt
Whoever wit you is goin' to jail
Do you niggas bust your guns?
Oh, you ain't bustin' none, huh?
You wanna fuck 'em til they cum, huh?
Drag-On, Juvenile, Double R, what you want huh?

Chorus