| Rolling down the block |
| Rolling up a blunt |
| Hand up on my firearm |
| Cause you never know |
| It’s 1991 |
| Two 12's up in the truck |
| We ride and see the tire marks |
| Swerving while we pouring up |
| They love when I hit the switch and get it jumping |
| Palm trees swinging while we watching the sunset |
| Why you looking from afar? Babygirl stop fronting |
| Come kick it with the macs, sit back, and smoke something |
| Sippin, pouring, tanqueray toasting |
| Take me back to the nights that I focused |
| On the hustle the grind, it don’t stop |
| 10 mil in my face, still I never will pop |
| Get dropped talking down on the SESH boys, you’re done bitch |
| Body in the river water filling your lungs quick |
| Goodnight and good luck to you and yours |
| Hundred spokes poking out, rolling up, blowing doja |
| Rolling down the block |
| Rolling up a blunt |
| Hand up on my firearm |
| Cause you never know |
| It’s 1991 |
| Two 12's up in the truck |
| We ride and see the tire marks |
| Swerving while we pouring up |
| Wait, blue skies and automatic weapons |
| Who am I but a deadman repping |
| Straight jacket on the flows I step with |
| The flow get to shaking as soon as I step in |
| They know who it is and the know who it’s not |
| Ain’t no sucker better recognize, give me my props |
| Don’t need no yacht to watch us from the rocks |
| Just need my cup to be filled to the top |