[Intro: King Just]
Yo, everything's real here
I sweare, the proof is in the batter
Batter proof, a hundred percent real
Killa Hill, 10304, back to settle the score
Yo, back me up, yo, back me up, yo, back me up, yo
Killa Hill, Killa Hill, Killa Hill, Killa Hill
[Chorus: King Just]
Yo, it really doesn't matter, how I make something phatter
Cuz the proof is in the batter, everytime you climb the ladder
Got to make, something better, when it comes to getting cheddar
Yo, they thought they'd have me locked down forever, never
[King Just]
I am here, so all raise your hands and cheer
Hallelujah, cuz this one here just might do ya
Not Rick the Ruler, but yo, I talk "Slick"
Not that gay shit, but on my own dick
Don't like potatoes, but yo I get chips
And don't like bitches with hips, and no tits
Thirty six C's, with cheese and foreign V's
Who love, with hustlers, gangstas and common thieves
I promise these rhymes be the ones you appreciate
We start the grands, indeed, and so, tell 'em to vacate
Set a date, mayday, mayday
Similar to Tyson, baby, I want the payday
From here to L.A., still rock my Pele Pele
And I ain't try'nna hear what the fuck you wanna tell me
Sell me your lies and call your alibies
Want a, piece of the pie, without lifting a finger to try
Your mind is out your ego, off the hook like a receiver
You should of paid attention when Rakim said "follow the leader"
Ask me, the Hill eater, cuz yo, I ain't
Feeling like Shaquille, all in the paint, over think
With a tank like No Limit, no gimmicks, raw lyrics
That's why you can tell the difference, every time you hear this
The weirdest, that ever put the mic in my clutch
One of the best, when it fucking came to the guts
It's all about such-and-such, so what, them niggas suck
In the cut, when the mask, what, held you up
Shit out of luck, with nowhere to go, on the low
Like Fidel Castro, unlimited cash flow, yo
[Chorus 2X]
[King Just]
Had to see you sweat, and no talk about begets
And still get the same respect that all these rappers get
It finally happened, we were known on the Staten
But all these, killas and biz, take the fun out of rapping
Instead of clapping they pack, instead of packing, they clap you
One for to over reacting, I'm asking
Why we can't all just all get along, raised in the ghetto
Singing survival songs of the dawn
I bomb like a terrorist across seas, let it be on
Your P's and Q's, cuz I don't plan to lose to MC's
Nigga please, it's a done deal, sixty four mil man, yo
I wanna feel like your Earth feels
Run up in your fortune, and all I, caught was the vein
Was it, the love of money, or the, love of the game
All the same when it comes to eat, all my hungry niggas
Stay on the low, and the, heat on the streets
Even though they watching, ain't no stopping, we still copping
The hundred G profit, with an overseas market
The target, the top ten, Mr. Choke On
Baby doll, you can't stop him
[Chorus 2X]
[Outro: King Just]
You can't stop me, signing off
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Until I become a living legend, dead and gone
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Mr. Choke On, will choke on
Until I become a living legend, dead and gone
