[Intro: Pike]
  Yo, hold up, yo you know what..
  S.I., Staten Island, niggaz, yo, yo
  
  [Pike]
  Ain't no more talkin' money or fame
  I'm stalkin' this game, and when I'm done
  I'm stickin' the fork in this game and run clutchin' my gun
  Name P.I., place S.I., N.Y.C
  Caramel papi chulo, mammies vena que
  Let's see if you could stop me
  I beat it like a one man posse, I leave it wet and sloppy
  I'm cocky, at times laid back, like to keep my fade back
  A lot of niggaz about to get paid back (HOOOOO!)
  Because a lot cats that don't like me
  I guess they thought I took it lighty
  But I rhyme and make you niggaz wanna fight me
  I'll melt a nigga like a icey, and wipe 'em up with a towel
  Still on the prowl, how bout? It's Staten Isle, I'm foul
  The same time I got respect for what's real
  Who said Staten Island niggaz ain't real?
  You dead wrong, and took you tied up with a red thong
  For goin' against The Struggle
  We squeeze on the team, crash your huddle
  
  [Lounge Mode]
  Well I'm known in the hood like Castellano
  You could see me in the fiddy, puffin' H. Armano
  Doin' eighty on the Belt', follow signs to Verrazano
  I keep two guns in my hood like paisano
  My style iller than ill, I'm sick like Alzheimer's
  A bugged cat, ready to bring back old drama
  If it wasn't for the Slash, what could I tell mamma
  God damn, it's bad blood between brick and the mud (HOOOOO!)
  Brick and the thugs, shittin' on love
  Turned over on the newest, start spittin' the snub
  My flow is nice and I ain't worried about them hoes at night
  For my wife and seeds, gotta get this dough shit right
  I'm analyzin', a look how the pro's get ripe
  And number 16, yeah, I want it showin' the lights
  I rep the hood, gotta respect the good
  Even the ones that left the hood, bitch!
  
  [Chorus: Lounge Mode (all) w/ ad-libs]
  Car hard suits, Timb boots and millimeters
  (We got this, we got this)
  Hoes and fancy cars and smokin' reefers
  Cellies and beepers (we got this)
  Hoodies and sneakers (we got this)
  
  [Remedy]
  Yo, it's the smoked out white boy back on the block
  With the thirty eight snubbed nosed, tucked in his sock
  From the H-Block, Huegonaut, part of the rock
  Shaolin, Staten Isle, and I love hip hop
  And when it comes to the kid, man, shit ain't easy
  I Lounge with the Cappa D. and L.O. Beezy (I see you!)
  You sees me? Yeah, yo, believes me
  The Code:Red for life click, racoons need me
  Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, I got this
  Rock this, radio drop this
  The Code:Red's for real, yo, you can't stop this
  None of ya'll muthafuckas out there could block this
  Jumped in the whips, all dipped down low
  Ready for a trip, to where, I don't know
  No matter where we go, you can't stop the flow
  The heat's on, gun's drawn, what's up, yo?
  
  [Cappadonna]
  Aiyo, my spit never tasted good, I'm sour
  I spit for the money and I spit for power
  Then I lean on ya'll like the Eiffel Tower
  And to my Staten Isle niggaz, that's my heart
  I might leave for a minute, but could never depart
  Yeah, I'm married to this bitch and I'm still fuckin'
  I'm in the hood where the guns is nothin'
  And niggaz don't say shit, like E.F. Hutton
  Paranoid like Bush, press the button
  Don't make me grab the boomers and get disgustin'
  Poppy Wardrobe King, Code:Red Production
  Pillage for life niggaz, the hoes that's crushin'
  To all my niggaz that went out bustin'
  Grindin', the black Timbs on, wild out, hustlin'
  (We got this, we got this)
  
  [Chorus]