Woorden: Diplomats. Dipset Symphony.

I don't give a fuck who's first or who's last
The Dipset is gonna rock this shit out at a drop of a brick, nigga
I don't care what y'all say, I don't care what y'all do
But y'all better rep Harlem until the god-damned music is through
Mister C, let's Go

All eyes on the honorable, who?
Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbecue
Beefs on, all my kids ride like a carnival
Heats drawn, all you kids lie, like carpet do

Get up and get ready, what up? The kids ready
Now that I'm back, the game is fucked, the bitch let me
You front, you stunt, you get heat clown
Yeah, punks jump up, to get beat down

Now eight years ago, I played the bench with dimes
Everybody in my park was getting bent off dimes
Pitchin' packs on the block, tryin' to get us some sneakers
Sippin' yak, Henney, rock, puffin' nickels of reefer

I'm pumpin' on the strip, in the midst of the drug trade
I'm watching for the blitz in the midst of the drug raid
For niggas gotta eat, it's like my stomach is touching back
New York's ryder man, for you suckers I'm fuckin' back

Now, can I kick it? Yes, I can
They wanna know if I'm G'd up, yes, I am
Look, I over-paid my dues, I almost made the news
The block kinda hot but the coke came on move

If I was a brick, you wouldn't know what to do with me
You'd probably cook me up, get a stem, and start using me
Nobody built me, I made myself and
You don't know how to shoot guns, you'd graze yourself

I was a fiend, before I became a teen
It was dreams, toss for the latest beams
Made in cream 'cuz hey, they kept the kept the powder in the tray
Way before it was maybelene

I'm into major stacks, major stats, hate on that
Cam, holla 'cuz I'm gonna bring his label plaques
That ain't made of plat, whoa, your jewelery ain't gold
You cop ya jewelery from Hov, they all fade to black

When I was nine years old, I realized who was a roll [Unverified]
At the end I cop a Benz when I chop some O's, Forty
Smokin' lye, optimoz, poppin' mo's, we both shoppin' [Unverified]

Difference is you coppin' clothes, I'll show you how to drop a rolls
Whether a phantom or a flower, I'm a killa like Jaffi Joe
I'm from where they made the cocky flow
While hoes puck up on my stick, like you trying to hit a hockey goal

I keep a nine in my dresser, lyrical professor
Keep you under pressure, ain't a nigga better
Mind like a computer, sick shooters
You'll get finned, go to war with six shooters

I bone bitches with coupes and big hooters
Give head, and piff buddha, pump bricks and sip luha
Ha you hard, you runnin' with state troopers
My niggas is straight shooters, cock back, and straight shoot ya

Not in my book, never that nigga
I'll ask y'all niggas to go till the motherfuckin' beat stops
When I had the dipset right, I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones
Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal, Un kasa, Dipset forever, nigga
Mister C signin' off, Duke Da God