[Verse 1 - 40 Cal]
You see, my money like a baker's shop
That's why I make the powder blow
First I get "papi" bread, then I make sour dough
You still pump-a-nickel, move every hour: slow
My work so powerful. Your money ours, bro
Ain't no bagel jokes, but for butter I be raisin' toast
Like a bread [bad word] I keep the latest loafs
I serve beef, grab pounds and squeeze
Get sick with the 40, call it "Mad Cal Disease"
My niggas get down for cheese and felony raps
Ya'll niggas hamsters: really can't tell if they rats
But you call em turtles when the shell in they back
I play 8Ball from Menace, I can help you with that
Then I'm back to melt the track soon as the vanilla crack
2-door NSX: that's a selfish Ac'
Mack to your pelvis, black, I put you where Elvis sat
Walk in pawn shops when I take your chain and sell it back

[Hook]
(It's the Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset!)
You guys are not a threat, pay homage to the best
(Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset!)
We got the streets owned, you [bad word]  holmes
(It's the Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset!)
Any problems it's a wrap, we put Harlem on the map
(Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset!)
You now rockin' with the best, pay homage to the Set

[Verse 2 - J.R. Writer]
Listen: I'm 'bout flipping, but if the slouch tripping
I put some scratch on his head like his scalp's itching
Dig it: JR is hot. Whippin': the car is drop
Barbies watch the dealer. Admit it: I'm hard to top
Hater, I'm back. Face it: you're whack
JR is crack, the same thing they place in a pack
I stay in the trap
So, no, you won't hear "808" when I put some [bad word] bass on a track
I bring the fiends out, give them niggas what they need
I don't see droughts, it is figures what I see
Bring them ki's out to the middle of the P's
No matter the temperature degree
Rain, sleet, snow, I'm pitching em for sheez
Peel bricks, you'll have to go to Switzerland for these
I get them off the greez, it's easy to the beast
You should bow down the next time you see me in the streets!