| I’m doing mental jumping jacks until failure unlike the mayor in my town |
| Without BONES you woulda never heard of Howell |
| But motherfuck the past, I’m focused on right now |
| Cause shut my eyes and tell you when you die, who, what, where and how |
| It’s the reaper’s son-in-law, intentional with the fouls |
| Went from Th@ Kid to BONES and it burned the game down |
| I was busy getting my sound right, hope you do a sound bite |
| Respect, I’m making millions, but we know just who you sound like |
| I was bumping off that Richter Scale |
| It scared my mental and was broke |
| I was picked by the reaper, bitch |
| This life it wasn’t chose |
| Bitch it chose me, chose up |
| Bentley or the Rolls truck, motherfuck a Rover |
| I pull up in the, pull up in the |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, black hearse, make em hurt |
| BONES throwing up the 517 desert dirt |
| Nextel on me, chirp |
| «What's popping, who got a problem?» |
| I was broke we made it work |
| Crowbar for the guala |
| I put my blunt down like «baby, I’ll be right back» |
| I put my foot down like «yes, bitch, it’s like that» |
| I put my blunt down like «baby, I’ll be right back» |
| I put my foot down like «yes, bitch, it’s like that» |