Оригинален текст
19 nigg* 7, b*tch what's happenin?
Chorus:
Thirteen muth*fkin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
so bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muth*fkin years!
This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.
Thirteen muth*fkin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
so bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muth*fkin years!
Verse 1
Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it
Keepin me rappin until I h*arse and swollen
Thirteen years and rollin
I rate colder than coldest
Gettin part of this, don't want no more of this
Never leave you alone in your life, nigg* I'm selectin and sellin rhymes
Slap a nigg* that style sound some like mine
Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"
(This line whispered, can't hear)
You be p*ssin me off some the time, take you down one at a time
I'ma be known for fkin over your whole album
Who want my rhyme?
Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing
Keep duckin, I'ma keep buckin
Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you girls off me
Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)
Hard to break, if it comes that way
It took me thirteen muth*fkin years just to make a tape
But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
All I know I been tryin to make it for the fkin longest
fk the side of all this, long as you done it
When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this b*tch
Takin them riders down with me, clown with me
Leave thirteen in your muth*fkin chest and you can count em
Chorus
Verse 2
nigg* go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year
Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets
Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets
Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches
Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pi*sy mattress
Droppin like the temperature in December
Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember
Fulla them rocks, everybody move key
It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs
Handle your buisness in this industry of competition
Or be at F.W. Bulls washin dishes
b*tch I was born to write million dollar rhymes
Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85
86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape
We dropped some real s**t in the basement
I had big ol' nigg* tracks, raps like pavement
To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
That's when I got discouraged and joined the service
p*ssed of and I (?) before long
I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home
No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream
Ain't s**t unlucky about my number thirteen
Chorus
Verse 3
I hit the b*tch like BOSH! Owwwwww!
Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow
How in the fk you like me right now
Told your as* she had said I'd be on top of the pile
Cause my rap style is my hustle
I shot up like Muslims
With the flex like muscle
Use a, pretty delievery cause it's most important
I form a style sharp enough to cut straight through the bones
I came from my welts, gave up my belt
I got off from Big Boy records to put my single on the shelf, now
Do I do it? fkin right I did it
Shoulda seen the little chir'en in the street singin I'm Not That nigg*
Size ain't nothin nigg*, I'm short
Shockin nigg*, raah!
They gave me five hundred dollars, s**t I quit both of my jobs
fk em, got some other s**t to do from nine to five
My birthday came, and my sister died
But next year, Mystikal signed a half a million dollar deal with Jive
This s**t thats tragic can't be no more
Because of my rings I work at A&P no more
I drive my landcruiser off the show floor
Got the time to time to feel pain, sittin on Volvos
Comin with scheme, up in my dream
Who'd a ever thought I'd be a No Limit soldier
by the end of that thirteen
Thirteen manic muthfkin years!
