| 517 until the grave
|
| .223 at your brain
|
| Two million blunts to the face
|
| Bones 'bout to make a stain
|
| Pulling up, rolling deep
|
| Prototypes on my feet
|
| Touch the paint, you get beat
|
| Touch the ice, feel the heat
|
| Try to rob me? |
| That’s a no, no
|
| AUG and that bitch blow, blow
|
| With the team, never ever solo
|
| Push it, shit, push it back in slow-mo
|
| Ayy, switchblade on my body (Body)
|
| Profit all in my pocket (Pocket)
|
| Hit the switch and get to droppin'
|
| Got a '64 with hydraulics (What?)
|
| Boom, now you’re doomed
|
| 24 karat cover my tomb
|
| Don’t make me go back to the shit I used to do (SESH)
|
| Ice cold mason, pressed juice vagrant
|
| Hundred fifty dollar candles posh with the fragrance
|
| Need to leave the city soon, I need me some acres
|
| Raise my son right 'til my bones turn ancient
|
| Back on the motherfuckin' prowl (Woo)
|
| I’m the past and the future and the fuckin' right now
|
| Blunt guts by the pile, only purchasin' in pounds
|
| Habits that I got demand a lot of my account
|
| 517 until the grave
|
| .223 at your brain
|
| Two million blunts to the face
|
| Bones 'bout to make a stain |