The Mission - Jaylib, Madlib, J Dilla

Madlib turn the strings up My knuckleheads, put them things with the beams up You won’t need your heat this time around

I spits fire, it’s like the rounds are rounds

In a big ass block of the bitch-ass niggaz

Who wan’hate, cause they don’t get cash with us But they really on Jay and Mad dilznick

If you want the truth then that’s just it Them sick cause I slipped they chick this magic stick

We all act, can we get them balls back

I keeps it simple as well as complicated

Jaylib for service, just compensate us

I’m tryin to cop the Maker’s and hop up in the latest whips

Caked rockin gators

It’s P.I., D.I.

and L.I.B.

Better know what the hell I bring, it’s fire

Yo, wait, now let me speak on these journalists

Only the ones who need to learn and listen

Before they criticize verses that burns kitchens

Live from the land of Hearns and Pistons

You heard me~?

!

Beats and rhymes so dirty

Play it too loud and you’ll feel a burn where you pissin

Up, my nigga turn the motherfuckin strings up The ultimate link-up, about to cha-ching up Jaylib baby don’t forget the name

How you want it, Beemer four-fifth or Range

Come see the Dilla lay with the fifth

Maybe you can write an article about how Jay play with them whips

And who said producers ain’t supposed to rap

They don’t want the Ruger to bang well close your traps

Better not run them jibs or fibs no more

We pullin plugs so haters («can't live no more»)