| Ayo, I use the Arm & Hammer just to fluff my brick
|
| Say what I wanna say and I don’t give a fuck, I’m rich (Ahh)
|
| Tuck my fifth, don’t hesitate to bust my shit
|
| I tell you niggas like Kyrie, «Suck my dick» (Hahahaha)
|
| I don’t trust a soul, I don’t even trust my bitch (Uh-uh)
|
| Before I fall in love, I’d rather cut my wrist (Ahh)
|
| I sweat Ace of Spades, nigga, that’s how much I sip
|
| Body a rap nigga quick before the Dutch got twist
|
| (Ayo, let’s roll somethin')
|
| Yeah, the shotty ring, this shit is not a thing (Uh-huh)
|
| The chopper make your body lean, my niggas body things (Brr)
|
| Uh, I’m with the jackboys, I’m with the robbin' team (Uh-huh)
|
| On my mama, I never rocked a pair of Robin jeans (Hahahaha)
|
| Everything I jot is mean, how you gon' stop Machine?
|
| My name, it probably ring like Las Vegas slot machines
|
| The MAC by my pelvis in my Helmut Lang (Uh-huh)
|
| The shells’ll bang, make everything outta your helmet hang
|
| Uh, the mayo jar was Hellmann’s when I swirled the 'caine
|
| Then I wrapped the yayo up in cellophane (Woo)
|
| My shooter got Dame Lillard from the elbow aim
|
| I thought of that while I was courtside at the Melo game (Ahh)
|
| Bricks are off-white, I imported some (Uh-huh)
|
| Whippin' all night until the mornin' come (All night, nigga)
|
| Still pitchin' long nights until my fortune come
|
| That’s big checks on the side like the Off-White Jordan 1s, ugh!
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game, nigga (This shit a game, nigga)
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game (This shit a game, oh word?)
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game
|
| Until I pull up, let it ring (Let it ring)
|
| Until I pull up, let it ring (Let it ring)
|
| Until I pull up, let it ring
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game, nigga (This shit a game, nigga)
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game (This shit a game, huh?)
|
| Ayo, they think this shit a game
|
| Until I pull up, let it bang, nigga (Let it bang, nigga)
|
| Until I pull up, let it bang (Let it bang)
|
| Until I pull up, let it-
|
| I used to be a man of the people
|
| Hit the clubs and mingle (What up?)
|
| Used to dream one day I’d be fuckin' pink like a flamingo (Pink)
|
| That was back when I smoked Canibus
|
| Man, but it was tough, 'cause I was a fan of his
|
| So it sucked to hand him his ass, but
|
| Yeah, lookin' back on my feuds
|
| How me and Ja Rule almost got cool
|
| 'Cause we shot pool back in '01
|
| Was it '02? |
| I don’t know, but
|
| Something told me fuckin' not to
|
| Then we got stuck in high school, I shoved an Oscar up his wazoo
|
| Yeah, but I think of the rappers I slayed and buried like every night
|
| And every career I might’ve killed, sometimes I say a prayer and I
|
| Wonder is there a heaven for a G? |
| And if so, is the sanctuary nice?
|
| Studios for rap like Coolio, shootin' craps at gangster’s paradise
|
| Huh, here a mic, there a mic
|
| Everywhere a mic, share and share alike
|
| But just don’t compare alike
|
| Instead of comparin' me, pick a fair fight
|
| Compare me to lightnin', that similarity’s strikin'
|
| Compare me to Jaws
|
| Compare me to Manson, Marilyn or Charles
|
| Compare me to Nas, Biggie, or Pac
|
| Do not compare me to that Iggy bitch
|
| Or all this fuckin' Milli Vanilli hip-hop
|
| This is where all that silly shit stops
|
| Compare me to the pistol that triggered this thought
|
| The semi, the Glock, 9 millis get cocked, I’m sending a shot
|
| Don’t come around with them floss raps tryna stunt
|
| Compare me to Meek, big wheelies get popped
|
| One by one, compare 'em to scabs, I’m picking them off
|
| They’re going home to fuck Nicki Minaj, aw
|
| Compare me to Diggity-Das, yah
|
| I’m hickity-hitting it raw, ha
|
| In the trailer park (Haha)
|
| Told her I’d play the part like Kanan Stark’s
|
| Ate her twat like a Tater Tot, oh shit
|
| Get the strap like a trainin' bra
|
| Lunchtime like at eight-o'clock
|
| But Shady’s not for the faint of heart
|
| Goin' at these pricks like Lorena Bobbitt
|
| Y’all want drama, we can make a scary movie like Marlon Wayans
|
| Y’all lookin' at the charred remains of Charlamagne tha God
|
| Slim whip, Westside, and Conway are not playin'
|
| I cock back, aim, and I spray ya like (Bang) |