[Chorus:]

Thirteen motherfucking years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen motherfucking years!
This ain't no fluke this pure deep talent.
Thirteen motherfucking years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen motherfucking years!

Bow when I hold the microphone and hold it
Keeping me rapping until I hoarse and swollen
Thirteen years and rolling
I rate colder than coldest
Getting part of this, niggas don't want no more of this
Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selecting and selling rhymes
Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine
Mad enough you screaming "It AIN'T!"
(This line whispered, can't hear)
You be pissing me off some the time, take you down one at a time
I'm be known for fucking over your whole album
Who want my rhyme?
Keep declining, I'm keep climbing
Keep ducking, I'm keep bucking
Keeping heat seeking rhymes coming to get you bitches off me
Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)
Hard to break, if it comes that way
It took me thirteen motherfucking years just to make a tape
But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
All I know I been trying to make it for the fucking longest
Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it
When I done it, getting blunted bout to run this bitch
Taking them riders down with me, clown with me
Leave thirteen in your motherfucking chest and you can count em

Nigga go pass the vibe, dividing mad this year
Creative catastrophe, leave emcees 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 pissy mattress Dropping like the temperature in December
Clipping em, tipping em, been writing raps far back as I can remember
Full of them rocks, everybody move key
It was ghetto Djs and sucker emcees
Handle your business in this industry of competition
Or be at F.W. Bulls washing dishes
Bitch 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 shit in the basement
I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement
To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
That's when I got discouraged and joined the service
Pissed 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 getting my cream
Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen

I hit the bitch like Bosh! Ow!
Never gonna bounce could rap and doing time before I bow
How in the fuck you like me right now
Told your ass she had said I'd be on top of the pile
Cause my rap style is my hustle
I shot niggas up like Muslims
With the flex like muscle
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Use a, pretty delivery 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? Fucking right I did it
Should of seen the little children in the street singing I'm Not That Nigga
Size ain't nothing nigga, I'm short
Shocking nigga, rah!
They gave me five hundred dollars, shit I quit both of my jobs
Fuck em, got some other shit 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 shit that's tragic can't be no more
Because of my rings I work at A&P no more
I drive my land cruiser off the show floor
Got the time to time to feel pain, sitting on Volvo's
Coming 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 motherfucking years!