Stab ya man's, so that his blood'll squirt/
Get the syrup, like my bitch is Mrs. Butterworth/
We gets the syrup, not the coughin kind/
Call me Jay-Z, cuz this cities mine/
The troubled clique, problems we just stir up/
No 9's & shit, we just cop the syrup/
You just keep talkin, all I hear is blabbin/
We lives in Las Vegas, but we fucks with Log Cabin/
Not just the name brands, generic'll work on my french toast/
We movin units, ya'll just stuck like a fencepost/
I know we makin money, that makes ya crew hurt/
Cuz we live by 1 rule, make sure we do work/
You fuck with us, that's a sticky situation/
We got people on the strip, with syrup bottles waitin/
With my man 5th El, he's that dude behind the beat/
& the topic of this song, ain't the reason that it's sweet/
