When the blacks come out, a drumbeat sounds An old crackhead and his empire let loose the Snoop Doggy Dog, A thousand rocks are theirs; a G6 they fly Little they care, that mad money there, the innocents that die When the blacks come out, a fat beat sounds The old hatreds spring anew; Bread piled on bread, a rapper's cry, Kanye calls out for you An endless rhyme; spitting hot fire Brings men to whom crack, money, hoes aspire; An old-school tune, familiar tracks, One whose silence chickenheads and haters desire We march on, stacking that cheese, Valiant homies all are we; Come the close we roll thirty deep, Players and bitches forever beef.