[Part I: "'93 'Til Infinity" by Souls of Mischief]

Yeah, rest assured
The best is here in the flesh, and that's for sure
The rest should wear 'em a vest, I'm set for war, nigga, press record
I send niggas to address the Lord
Same flow that put your neck to sword
The same flow that just undressed your whore
Takeover, nigga, check the score
This is chess, better check your board
Who gave the world more fire but got less reward?
No stress, my only guess is that less is more, more or less
Hundred G's in my dresser drawer, I'm blessed
Hope IRS don't arrest me for it, I'm new to it
My new crib got the Time Square view to it
While two bitches lay in my bed, I'm used to it
That's your best friend givin' me head, now you do it
See, mami? It's not so weird
After I hit, I cut you off like Picasso ear
Van Gogh or whoever, Goddamn, Cole, you're too clever
Like a fucking James Brown sample, you're two-ever
Times two, that's forever, more treble
Meanin' more high-end shit on your level
Put the fear of God in niggas, I'm pure Devil
Walkin' contradiction, my description
Off the top, magician, compositions nonfiction
Shitted in the competitions
Pot to piss in, gone, uh, so long, uh
Saturdays, a nigga used to mow lawns, uh
Nowadays a nigga be eatin' prawns
Fuck my bitch by the window, wave to the peeping Toms, ugh
Yes, I'm Carolina's finest
Southern nigga with New York stamps, honest
Out in Queens with the fiends, I'm your highness
Cole World, don't mistake it for a sinus—
Infection, at this point, I'm just flexin'
Bas is next in line, and the test is time
Play the game right, nigga, he gon' rest his mom
In the sands of Sudan where she rest her mind
And find peace, 'cause her son'll be fine
He got the city on his back, and I got him on mine
You think I'm lyin'? Shit, step one: got the 'Ville on map
Shit I predicted in my raps, I done did all that
Next, please, eat rappers, mm, check please
Here's a tip while niggas grip my testes
You wan' shoot? Then shoot, don't play with me
Hardest shit out the South since slavery, nigga
Hardest shit out the South since slavery, nigga

[Part II: "Still Tippin'" by Mike Jones]

Ugh, woke up this morning and wondered
"Hey, should I get fresh or should I keep it humble?"
My closet like Dover Street, used to be bummin'
Some days, I'm still bummin', the difference is now, it's by choice
Got dressed and peeped out the window, these lil' niggas different
They don't play Nintendo, they play with extendos
I hope you can limbo
That chopper gon' spin you around like a judge on The Voice
I'm from a city where most niggas never get lucky enough
To see somethin' outside county limits
I ran up the digits, I don't have no muh'fuckin' business
Complainin' about nothin'
Ain't got no time or no patience for lists they be makin'
Or who they debatin' is better
Let's face it, he one of the greatest
No Bill Cosby shit, but if niggas is sleepin', then fuck 'em
Most niggas don't understand me
I don't do the GRAMMYs, I be in my jammies on sofa
Most niggas don't understand me
Ferrari or Camry, I bet I look good in 'em both
Most niggas don't even get this
Cole, How you on top but you don't got no bitches? I know
Most niggas don't even get this
So given the chance, they trade family for riches, I know
Look at my ceilin', it's endless
I'm sick and these bitch niggas feelin' the sickness
It ain't enough vitamin C in they system to get rid of me
I'ma kill it relentless
On top, but I sound like I'm still in the trenches
I come from that 'Ville, I turn villains to victims
Reach and see "R.I.P." fill up your mentions
A message for niggas that's feelin' ambitious
How come a nigga still ain't hit his prime?
Ahh, you bitch, Off-Season comin' May 14th
Fuck all y'all niggas, it's over for you
I swear to God