| Gold medals
|
| Them my role models
|
| Rolling old models, lowered old schools
|
| Flowing cold and going (?)
|
| Flower bearing, call it petals to the floor
|
| Power sharing, call it devils to the door
|
| Power, power, till it ain’t no devils anymore
|
| Flower, flowers, they be dropping at the feet of my son
|
| Move a thousand miles per hour down the street of my slum
|
| (?) to the beat of my drum
|
| It was little Susie (?)
|
| She so cracking, (?) a killer
|
| All pitch, don’t tick
|
| Wasn’t trapping with no niggas
|
| Had a long money (?) and that action for them figures
|
| Ask me could she get inside
|
| She pointed at her pistol so I properly replied
|
| Told me, out here in the streets, she ain’t have no competition
|
| And with me up on the beats, that we shared the same description
|
| (?) to her lips, she said, «Now here’s my proposition»
|
| You just write up all your raps for me and I’ma go and spit it
|
| Then we take ‘em to the radio, the DJ (?) spin ‘em
|
| Then we take ‘em to the radio and sell a couple million |