| Ok, late night grinding
|
| Understand, Young Don in the building
|
| Of course, a nigga still throwed with it
|
| C.M.G. |
| for life, Teflon feel it
|
| I’ve been told I can’t do it, mostly all my life
|
| I done crapped plenty times, but kept shooting the dice
|
| You don’t work and don’t eat, it’s a sacrifice
|
| That’s why niggas go to jail, and they turn to mice
|
| Eat steaks and kool-aid, not no water and rice
|
| And my family live good, cause we paid the price
|
| Could you still be a rapper, without no ice
|
| I was born with a gift, that’s why I flow so nice
|
| I’m a two-time felon, so I fucked up twice
|
| So I switched up my game, not to get three strikes
|
| No I can’t win 'em all, but I done won some fights
|
| And I still smoke weed, on my sleepless nights
|
| Why niggas acting like, they don’t know wrong from right
|
| And why they steady trying to ball, when they money is tight
|
| I’ma peel niggas back, when they good and ripe
|
| Cause they just a bunch of talk, trying to find some hype
|
| I know I’m thoed with it, and I ain’t gon let 'em change my mind
|
| A kid writing raps, turning nickels into dimes
|
| I been thoed with it, but they steady talking down
|
| Continue dropping hits, till it’s my motherfucking time
|
| Still thoed with it, won’t these haters let me shine
|
| I’m hungry for the title, close it up and give me mine
|
| So thoed with it, like it’s all brand new
|
| Represent for Houston Texas, my niggas that’s what it do
|
| Niggas screaming in the background, fuck Lil' Ke
|
| But when I see 'em in the streets, they start copping a plea
|
| I give a fat rat’s ass, what they say bout me
|
| And my mama told me, Jesus the only thang that’s free
|
| Still thoed with it, cause what’s real gon be real
|
| And rapping ain’t a hobby or a game, it’s a feel
|
| I’m puffing on the purple, letting the smoke hit my throat
|
| Letting the pen hit the pad, then it’s murder he wrote
|
| Got a candy coat, it put my slab on note
|
| With them suicide do’s, and them 84 spokes
|
| Here’s a message boy, from a Texas boy
|
| C.M.G. |
| is the truth, you’ll be breathless boy
|
| Don’t even test us boy, never charging shit
|
| All I’m saying is I’m grown, don’t make me kill ya bitch
|
| So excuse my french, but niggas do get lynched
|
| And my team wins game, in the motherfucking trench |