The Sauce lyrics

[Intro]

It's all bad now, man, it's all bad

But y'all done fucked up now

Yeah! Haha! New shit!

Ayo, I just want the whole world to know

That I did not start this, but I will finish it

[Verse]

Comin' up, it never mattered what color you was

If you could spit, then you could spit

That's it, that's what it was

Back when motherfuckers was straight backpackin'

Cipherin', fightin' for life in this rap

For the mic to get passed, and you psyched and you gassed

Then you hype, ‘cause you last

And you might whoop some ass; if you lost, then you lost

Shake hands like a man and you swallowed it

When the Unsigned Hype column in

The Source was like our only source of light

When the mics used to mean somethin', a four was like

You were the shit, now it's like the least you get

Three and a half now just means you're a piece of shit

Four and a half or five means you're Biggie, Jigga, Nas

Or Benzino—shit, I don't even think you realize

You're playin' with motherfuckers' lives

I done watched Dre get fucked on The Chronic

Probably ‘cause I was on it

Now you fucked me out of my mics twice, I let it slide

I said I wouldn't hold my fuckin' breath to get a five

Shit, I was right, I'da fuckin' died already tryin'

I swear to God, I never lie, I bet that's why

You let that bitch give me that bullshit review

I sat and took it, I ain't look at the shit, we knew

You'd probably try and fuck us with Obie and 50 too

*Spit* Fuck a relationship! We through!

No more Source to street credit, them days is dead

Ray's got AK's to Dave Mays's head

Every issue there's an eight-page Made Men spread

Will somebody please tell whoever braids his head

That I am not afraid of this fuckin' waste of lead

On my pencil, for me to write some shit this simple

So, listen closely, as I break it down and proceed

This old G's about to get smoked like rolled weed

You don't know me or my motherfuckin' mother

You motherfuckin' punk!

Put me on your fuckin' cover just to sell your little sell-out mag

I ain't mad, I feel bad, here's an ad

Here's a poster of Ray-Ray and his dad

You wanna talk about some shit

That you don't know about, yeah?

Let's talk about how you're puttin' your own son out there

To try to eat off him because you missed your boat

You're never gonna blow, bitch, you're just too old

No wonder you're sore now, lordy, you're bored now

I'm pushin' 30, you're kickin' 40's door down

Bitch, this is war now, and you'll never beat me

All you do is cheat me out of Quotables

But you know that you'll always see me on your TV

‘Cause you've got to stay up 'til three in the morning

To see your video played once on BET

So, hee hee hee, who has the last laugh? Aftermath, yeah

So, on behalf of our whole staff, kiss our asshole cracks

We'll never fold or hold back

Just know that Benzino's wack; no matter how many times I say his name, he'll never blow, jack

You're better off tryin' to bring RSO back

Look at your track record, that's how far it goes back

It's extortion, and Ray owns a portion

So, half of the staff up there is fresh out of jail from Boston

Bullyin' and bossin' Dave like a slave

They completely brainwashed him, and forced him to stay

Locked in his own office

Afraid of the softest, fakest, wannabe gangsta in New York

And it's pitiful, ‘cause I would have never said shit if you'd

Have kept your mouth shut, bitch, now what?

Hit it, Clue! Spit it, Slay! New shit, Exclusive

Yo, Lantern, yo Whoo Kid

You know what to do with this

Use it, I'm through, this is stupid

I can't believe I stooped to this bullshit to do this

And who you callin' a bitch, bitch? You owe me!