(The Aphilliates-style, motherfucker. Pay attention!)
And just like that, mixtape shit is now official
DJ Young Mase, AKA Mr. Detroit City
You know what time it is
Return of the Dozen:
Kuniva, Big Proof, Marshall Mathers
Bizarre, Kon Artist, Swift McVay
I've been firing up my ounces in Vietnam in houses
Just the past time. Go ask about me in the county
I am mentally disruptive and untouched; I'm not lying
I'll snipe you faster than a nigga that's been caught wired
My thought process is maniacal
Tylenol threes mixed with Vicodin can make a hella antidone
Speak irrelevant. There ain't enough medicine
That can stop me from swelling your mouths worse than pelicans
I can sock whores that's with enough force
To crack the back of their skeletons; fuck having remorse
You'd be better off being suicidal than forfeiting
You can hide your horsemen, but not they vital organs
Snitches are foes and when they see me
Folks are quick to point their fingers at me faster than ET
My felonies be changing with the weather
I'll be the nigga blacker than X-Clan and the Panthers put together
We, we, we, we, we, we, we, we, we back
We back, we back
(It's D12, mother-fucker. It's D12, mother-fucker)We, we, we, we, we, we, we, we, we back
We back, we back
(It's D12, mother-fucker. It's D12, mother-fucker)
Back in the studio, back on the block
Back in St. Andrews',, got them hammers cocked
Nigga' I don't get shot: I do the shooting
Gang member: I do all the recruiting
Ball till y'all fall, out there in Reno
Blowing ten thousand: Motor City casino
They say my group was wanted on some IRS shit
That's what happens when five niggas sell bricks
When it comes to beefing, we don't need Marshall
St. Aubin massacre: call me Tamara Marshall
Come on your block and get loose
Shoot niggas for a triple-fat goose. This one's for Proof
This is for my dawgs. This is for my peoples
This is for them niggas, Bacardis and the Regals
(I see dead people) And it might be you
If you ever, ever disrespect my crew
We, we, we, we, we, we, we, we, we back
We back, we back
(It's D12, mother-fucker. It's D12, mother-fucker)We, we, we, we, we, we, we, we, we back
We back, we back
(It's D12, mother-fucker. It's D12, mother-fucker)
Your boys are back in the building; yeah, we back on the map
Back to doing them drugs; packing the mac in the Ac'
If you wanna get 'em up, let's make hap' with a scrap
Niggas be running they trap until the hammer go 'clap'
Bloody you up like a Cotex; leave your face big like Rolex
My guns carry 21 like 'three feet, no check'
The laid-back, bumping James Brown; the big payback
I don't play that like Pat, so don't say jack
Shit is real in this killing field; where's your game face?
Fuck you, your whole family and your namesake
So step back and observe these little clowns
Like they running this town, like we don't get down
In my crib, I got plaques: they hanging all around
And the only plaque you got is hanging in your mouth
You're not like us: a million fans overseas
We can leave for a week and come back with a hundred Gs
We back
The dozen: they been all over the country; overseas
Niggas done laid low for a minute
But now we back. The streets is ours
We back like we never left, niggas
You know what time this is: Return of the Dozen mixtape, hosted by the general
The fuck y'all wanna do now?
All y'all hating-ass niggas get your thongs ready: we back, D12!