[Moe Luv scratches an N.W.A. sample (originally Curtis Mayfield?)
saying the word "niggaz" over and over]

Brothers wanna know, what's goin on about the 4-1-1
on the group, and so on and so forth
So what you talk for, you know what I came for:
a motherfuckin ground war!
Talkin that same old style
Same old song, same old thang
Sweatin yourself, you're gettin busy yo
Huh, but you still can't hang
I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip
On the mic grip and hit, and then trip
into I never ever miss.. yo
You still ain't shit
Thinkin you're all that, you've got
the rep and props but you still can't rap
Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be
ever gonna be, who's gonna see
Come near here, come here child yeah
I got flavor, style -- compare
[Moe Luv cuts: "hold the beat, stop the beat, drop the beat"]
Yo, you can't compete
You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound
Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around
I don't play son, shorts do I take none
You need help better call 9-1-1
or the Beatles, or Susannah
Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana
juice, I got more, flowin like a river
Yeah, style's what I give ya
Shakin em, keep fakin em, make make makin em
Takin em, bakin em, no mistaken em
Dope, hyper, raw def MC
Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he
or she, you got nerve to even talk that
What about that, yeah, what's up with that
rumor talkin, we can't make a hit
We've been makin hits while you've been suckin dicks
around the town, lookin for a hardcore deal
Yeah - you ain't real!

"Niggaz"