I see I`m peeking out ready to rumble
So now I`m speaking out
Against those
That flip the way the story goes
One never knows
Who be flippin the script
Whatever the traitors name
My aim is dunk em like
I`m Chris Webber
So many phony smilin faces
Traces of slander
Got em comin outta funny places
I had it an hear em
Talkin loud behind my back
What was good for the hood
Is what they say is wack
I take the stabbin & grin
When I`m hit
Cause I know the suckas smile
When I leave em
What I`m comin wit
I cant complain about the money
Although the suckas in the back
They talkin shit
An laughin like its somethin funny
I aim to make changes
An never change
Unless its for the better
Cause I always been a go better
Clean hustler
Rhyme instead of muscle ya
Born when ya thinkin I`m gone
The terror era is on...
I stand accused
To the crews
I paid my dues
I stand accused
I refuse
To stand and lose
I stand accused
To the news
I kick da blues
I stand accussed
I refuse
I hear em talkin & walkin
Behind my back I`m attacked
Fuck the knife in the back
Cause it feels like they got an axe
Yeah I can dig it wit a shovel
I never dig dirt wit the devil
Instead I`m on that other level
But I took time to reach down
To help the black & brown
I never stood around
I hear em talkin behind
My mind
In a ocean of sharks
And a back full a hackmarks
They say I`m fallin off
Yeah, they better call it off
& get muscle
& find another hustle quick
Sick n tired of critics
But I can take a hit
I`m all man
Alley oopin the vocal on jams
But they dont know it
They can blow it
& take a puff of dis joint
I see I`m kissin it off the cuff
Behind the back
I`m pullin axes and blades out the arms & the legs
Still my fellas get paid
The terror era is on
Fuck a critic/fuck fuck a critic
All the fuckin critics
Can get the did dit
All a fuckin critic does is
Draw a fuckin line
Cross a line and dis my rhyme
& then they ass is mine
If you find a critic dead
Remember what I said
Who killed a critic
Guess the crew did it
Say paybacks a crazy ass message
Sent to the writers who criticize
They`re fuckin wit afreedom fighter
Who raises flags
& dragged the klan in bodybags
I hung em up in Missisippi & bum fuck
This is Chuck so what the hell
You think I did it for
To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas
And lemme let em I met em
I told my boys forget em
An what they did got rid of me
Negative
But 94 got stunts & blunts in da mix
I hear the crowd fallin vic
To old ghetto tricks
But if I wasn`t your cousin
Wed leave em in the dozens
Of sellin out & bellin out
Half pint 40 ounce
Announce to the rest
We had a fall out
I never took a drink
Never took a hit or bribe
Or got spread by what a silly
Rumor said
Never sang or gang banged
Sold out or rented hip hop
Cause I know when to stop
