[Verse: J Dilla]
Madlib turn the strings up
My knuckleheads, put them things with the beams up
You won't need your heat this time around
I spits fire, it's like the rhymes are rounds
In a big ass block of the bitch-ass n***as
Who wan' hate, cause they don't get cash with us
But they really on Jay and Mad dilznick
If you want the truth then that's just it
Them sick cause I slipped they chick this magic stick
We all that; can we get them balls back?
I keeps it simple as well as complicated
Jaylib for service, just compensate us