Poody:
Poody here with a mic attack,
make my voice heard on a another forty forty track.
Got something to say about the way I play,
I’m going to live my life, like it's my last day,
‘cause players fuck up, and sometimes get caught,
by the police looking for a quota spot.
I can't run away, I got to face the day,
pent up in the motherfucking prison,
Grey suit that never fits,
what the fuck did I do that no one gets away with?
It's not who you know, but what you got to pay,
to break through the bars to feel the light of day.
On your shoulders and on your feet,
showing liquid gold even though it's concrete.
So listen up, here's my advice
submerge your life in a sea of vice.
You never know when it's going to stop,
just on a hunch of an asshole cop,
that shackles wrist in a silver cuff,
spouting evidence that's clearly a bluff.
Flash my finger to the law and judge,
that lock me up with an empty shrug.
Just know someday that I’ll be out
on a covert mission to make you shout.
In ever lasting pain and agony,
revenge for the year you stole from me.

Scurvy D:
Ghostwriter,
I think we going to cipher,
deliver more hits than Rowdy Roddy Pipper.
Lay it down with my brothers in the Trifa.
Add one more 40 Frame just to spite you.
I'll knock you around, hit you in your dome,
docs will send you home with Russian syndrome.
your speed twice weak, you play half strong,
we do it much better, while taking shifts from the bong.
It won't be long, you'll be pumping this song,
it’s no surprise, we've been the kings all along.
But it’s okay Chets,
this ain't the end yet,
new song to get,
so just don't sweat.
We got the greed,
and the need,
a good blend of weed,
we got the jams to make your ears bleed.
Now you a fiend,
hooked on this scheme,
we just a team,
with the need to get C.R.E.A.M

Anthony:
If you want to get fucked up,
I’ll tell you what's tight:
Mix everclear with Gatorade electrolytes.
Experimental jet sets the decibel level.
Crunk up the bass and beat out the treble.
My shit be high rise, investing enterprise.
Stock market crash, Booyah taking cash.
Find your dictionary, look up ‘thug’,
There's a picture of me.
Take time out to please.
Lady on her knees,
suck it, suck it, suck it, suck it, all night long.
Sweet as the creme inside my ding dong.
Like Rob Lowe, I’ll be an outsider.
It’s hot burning up in St. Elmo’s Fire.
I’m tired, blood be thick in my veins,
this beat blow your head off like
Kurt-Kurt Cobang.
Phallus in Dallas to Angelica Houston.
Everything's bigger in Texas right?
Break me off a piece of that ass.
Beta 58 I’ll pass.

Wyatt:
On the mic, on the blunt, not the cunt,
or a Vicodin in the back of the label's trunk.
3 plus 2 plus the ten run rule,
e-i-g-h-t plus or minus a few.
I swallow three pints of blood,
it's sick and I'm sick with
this shit floating through my brain liquid.
Tell me I'm done, I don't recollect
I just forget about what I'm done with.
It's just do re mi,
can I still see?
With this s-h-i-p,
without the sea?
Cash flow broke more than your eskimo knows
life more dead than the hair your barber knows.
Drilled through this, look at these!
I got bloody fists and I've got more than three.
Drilled holes and a half of a fifth,
is this death or just sickness.
Care is harder than wear, and bare is worse than the New Jersey toll fare.
And I can see it in the air tonight, and we're "ready to fight"
so don't choke when you bite.