For my people in the front (front)
In the nosebleed section (section)
This is for the heads that's loving the mix
My people in the front, all covered in spit
Batters in the box (uh), Suffa to pitch(what)
Hilltop Hoods, all up in this bitch
And we the funk leaders, punks you can't beat us
We bump and pump meters, we drunk you chumps need us
So jump with us, down in the front entrance (if it's your flavor)
Your flavor, come get drunk with us (woo!)
This life turned out nothing like
I had planned (why not?)
By now I should've had some land
Some money in my hand, 'round about fifty grand
But I got nothing (nothin'), I write rhymes on the bus
I keep suffering (sufferin), fuck the lines of the dust
You keep sniffing, that shit is for the punk hoes (whoa!)