This guy's killed before! It was too easy for him Yeah We in this bitch Yeah, yeah Yeah, bitch, ain't shit changed Pockets stayin' full of hunnids (uh-huh) Keep the steel by the stomach Diamond grill, I'm a stunna; if she trill, I'ma fuck her (yeah) Thousand pills to the runner Countin' bills when I wanna, plenty mils I'ma run up Dressed to kill, I'm a gunner Slime for real, never rat on my brothers (nah) Drop the work in the bubbles In the Murder Mitt', I'm with Boldy and Double (uh-huh) Grand theft auto was lit Now I'm rollin' legit in that Hellcat with all of the muscles (skrrt) Two hunnid on the dashboard If your song come on, we fast-forward (y'all niggas trash!) Whoever let you in the studio should get shot, recordin' that trash noise Leveled up, now my wrist glittery (bling!) All of the haters in misery I skate in a Benz with all the amenities None of these niggas ain't lit as me (nah) On the road to riches, got a blick A brick and your bitch in the middle seat (what else?) You ballin', but that shit little league; my shit lit out in Italy Started off with a slice But I always had a plot to get a bigger piece (uh-huh) Got my hands on a pie Lettin' zips fly, I had a trap in the east, gettin' cash My eyes only recognize dollar signs I'm addicted to the bag (money) Slow down? Nah, bitch, I'm livin' fast Blowin' rounds, big blicky in the stash (bah! Bah!) Yeah, gang, money long as the L train (cheeewm) Two tears in a bucket, fuck it I'm who taught 'em how to hustle; they was ballin' on a budget I was servin' all the cluckers Thirty-pointers in my Buffies (Buffies) Rollie, cuttin' up in traffic (yeah) Boldy bustin' up a Backy, up the strig, I don't trust it (I don't) Hunnid bands in my luggage Got the guns and the butter (uh); little man, did I stutter? Stuntman in a Hummer, poppin' bands with my brother One hand wash the other (uh-uh) In the trap with the takers; red rag on a thumper Put a tag on his taper Rumble Pak on a Drac-y, head-top you with the caker (drr-r-rt) Yeah, hoe, clip long as my elbow, stuck to me like Velcro When the chair roll, got the TEC with the air holes Leave you stiff as a scarecrow (yeah) Pumpin' big blow; now we fronted your distro Cuban doin' the disco (yeah) Money Mitch flow; your bitch love how my wrist glow Tricky dance moves, no Sisqo Never froze or had cold feet; pullin' all-nighters, gettin' no sleep Play with gang, you know I'm gon' tweak Shout to Rome Streetz, it's been a long week Sold a hundred lil' Bo-Peeps, now it's twenty bad bitches on fleek Got me kickin' up chickens with no grease (what else?) Yeah, it's true; everything that I say, I do Really am who I say I'm is (yeah, uh-huh) Really play with strigs, Sig Sauers and katydids (bah) Growin' up, we was Bebe's Kids Duckin' ATF (ay) and the task, the way we live Catch a strap, they gon' say it's his I'ma say it's not; if they run in and raid the spot Pop up on you, this ain't a quiz (uh-uh) Jammin' rock like a Jamaican kid Either break bread, or we gon' break a rib (cha-ching) Sippin' syrup out in Mapleridge Got my piss purple when I take a whiz (pour up) Pourin' up lean, all the dope that I touch clean Dropping red thicker than some duck sauce (straight drop) Niggas in the ghetto playin' dirty with the wop Chasin' all the clucks off Seven-sixin' in the Drug Zone Servin' custos, duckin' jumpoffs (blockworks) All them bitches speakin' down on the Jones Left them bitches with the yuckmouth (ugh) Ducked off in the spig Off of G-Rear, countin' up a hun' bun (sk-skrrt) Niggas know not to call the Batphone If it ain't about the mon-ion (hello?) Stick up, playin' field hockey Know these niggas wanna killshot me Spend twenty, get sixty back Hunnid-fifty racks, that's a real profit You ain't never did a ninety-ball off the Tylenol Havin' tunnel vision (never touched that) Everything is all paper, all scratch, all skrilla 'Specially when you run with killas Where we at? Creatures