fuck ya mild crime tones, we wildin out in my time zone cross ya borders alone, and blast on my way home backwards, whats good, hood like backwoods speak the words slow, now you know, maybe i should tell yathat if you think that these streets cold i know a few fellas who lives dwell below zero and the degrees differ in intesity so please... one burner rocks the whole block, i aint talkin glocks g where projects stretch in ya eye, but no progress mess gets blessed, last rights put ya to rest and the pd, 5-0, whatever ya wanna call them pigs chose to test those papers, handcuff lock those who rose and i seen blocks where swat positioned wit m4's cocked extra clips for extra shit, shipped to a Pottersfield box cut throats, killas, villains that cranky long as theirs a possible boston massacre, im reppin the yankees