| You see these monkey-see-monkey-do's only holding 22's
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| They’re bucking nothing, letting nothing die
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| You see I roll for dolo, I don’t need a crew
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| I pack up by the gun or two
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| Believe me and I’m letting stuff fly
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| And I don’t give a fuck about the law
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| Because I’ve been here before
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| I’ve been locked in, boxed in, adolescence at war
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| I’ve been locked up, shot up, niggas calling the cops up
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| I make these niggas shit in their draws. |
| I seen it all
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| Let’s move on to the scale, the soda and fishscale
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| We be making crack like this
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| Let’s forget about hell, nigga, them jails, them god-damned snitches
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| They’re going to make me clap the bitch
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| You see I’m all over the beat
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| You know I’m all up in the street
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| My niggas and bitches, bang to this
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| Check it, if it don’t shine
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| Believe me homies, I pack some nines
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| I’m going to bang til I empty my clip
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| You know my style, kid
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| With my timbs on my feet and the gat on my back
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| When I’m strapping, you know I’m grinding, nigga
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| You have to see me with nines, if you want to stop mine
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| I be two steps ahead and you be one shot from dying
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| I don’t run from feds for the bread I’m frying
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| The chicks say they love me, but I know they’re lying
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| The closest thing to me only be my iron
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| And I ain’t lying
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| I’ve been doing this rap thing for years, ain’t a damn thing changed
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| Still on the block with my dogs, kicking the slang
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| Kool and the Gang don’t sound like E and 'caine
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| Since it’s my thing, street cats respect my name
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| Got the perfect game when it comes to this hiphop game
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| Crack your frame, leave your whole shit in flames
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| I’m like the gator in the Florida swamp, you losers no comp
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| You know the track record, mess around and get stomped
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| From «The Headbanger» to «You've Gots To Chill»
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| I stacked and built, packed and filled
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| So why these cats be acting ill?
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| Across the planet, my walls are granite
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| Slow down, partner, the beat is never lost or stranded
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| I can rap for centuries, spit with the first infantry
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| in the back, I take the jet and keep the Bentley
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| Don’t tempt P, I squeeze until my whole clip’s empty
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| Ain’t nothing changed, me and only me got my back
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| With no gang, I maintain with a baby Mac
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| This game got these niggas thinking they’re hard when they ain’t
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| Like they’re God and won’t catch ache in broad day. |
| These niggas soft
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| You know they’ve got sugar in their tank, man, get lost
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| Before you catch it right across your face
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| You got «thug» pumping through your hearts and veins
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| Till my slugs come busting through your window panes
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| Then they flip, you know they turn and they snitch
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| Nobody in the hood seemed to heard of them since
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| Listen, dun, you don’t want it, you don’t want to feel the Tec
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| I’m coming squeezing, leave you bleeding
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| Y’all niggas know the rest |