| Closing up shop, and locking doors
|
| Runnin up lost in someone’s room
|
| Silence so lighty you go dim
|
| Bombs are going off inside your chest
|
| If it feels like the end
|
| Coke boy, Montana, we up in here
|
| What they talkin' about?
|
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we up in here
|
| What they talkin' about?
|
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we in this bitch
|
| What they talkin' about?
|
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we in this bitch
|
| What they talkin' about?
|
| Bombs are giong off inside your chest
|
| It feels like the end
|
| Custom made shoes but I dont trust a soul
|
| They try and nail me to the cross but I’m across the globe
|
| I’m talkin' twenty M’s, or twenty in the pen
|
| Winners never quit, quitters never win
|
| Coming out the bottle, you don’t know the half
|
| I’m famous now my signature call the autograph
|
| From the most hated, to the most loved
|
| See these red diamonds, nigga that’s cold blood
|
| Hugs turn to waste, killers turn to dates
|
| Niggas hate to love, haters love to hate
|
| As-salâm 'aleïkoum, Inch Allah
|
| Please tell my story right (if I gotta die)
|
| See them diamonds flashin' come and catch the photo
|
| High off life but I’m sittin' solo
|
| Bitches fall out, real niggas fall in
|
| Sharks in them waters dare you stick your toes in
|
| Tryin' find God cause they gave me Hell
|
| Road paved in them hundreds, that’s a paper trail
|
| Chin Chilla dime move but the coupe loakin'
|
| Absorbed all this bullshit let the truth soak in
|
| Self made never punched a clock
|
| Before I hug a pig, I’mma hug the block
|
| From the blocks where the young niggas hit they vein
|
| To tourin' out the country and now we switchin' planes
|
| They try and kill my mind and my body
|
| Coke Boys, new illuminati
|
| When it comes to stuntin' I’m like money man meech
|
| Brought my city with me and we coming in the fleet
|
| And now I’m gettin' richer they don’t want me in these streets
|
| I’m thinkin' fuck an album sell, we sold a hundred bricks this week
|
| Thousand grams of crack, take it to the table
|
| Bag it all up, take it to the label
|
| And tell em distrubute it Im gettin' cake ridiculous
|
| Right like a frog jumpin through the traffic ribbitin'
|
| They tellin' me to turn down, they said I need ritalin
|
| Ballin' like I’m Jordan or assists from Scottie Pippen'
|
| In and out the flows, crossing over like I’m dribblin'
|
| Runnin' laps round the raps, I’m tire like Michelin
|
| Started out with Tip and them, but that wasn’t it for him
|
| Yellow gold cuban diamonds blue like Michigan
|
| LISTEN |