| Y’all niggas wanna stop me but they can’t
|
| And ya might tyr and pop me but you ain’t
|
| You too scared, y’all ain’t prepared
|
| The kid got enough heat to build a fan base in Baghdad
|
| I’m turfmatic, you don’t wanna start no static
|
| Have ya sayin hail mary’s like that ass was catholic
|
| Ya head on straight don’t make me unmask it
|
| Or I’ll be forced to and disappear like magic
|
| And until that day caome that I’ll get, put in a casket
|
| I’ma saty spittin rhymes, til I get rich
|
| That’s on Brookly, hear my words and hear 'em well
|
| I got the envelope sealed noe, you got mail
|
| Ain’t no tellin what I’m finna do
|
| I’m unpredictable
|
| I just might flip
|
| Cock aim and let it spit
|
| Or I might get ripped and split your brain
|
| Just label me a hard head, who ain’t gon change
|
| It ain’t fun out here, you gotta keep a gun out here
|
| Cause niggas don’t make it to see twenty-one out here
|
| It’s rough out here, you’ll get snuffed out here
|
| Trunked, stuffed and even handcuffed out her
|
| Who me? |
| nah potna, your barkin up the wrong tree
|
| I’m cutthoat, keep thump thang on me
|
| I aim good, I throw these thangs good
|
| And me and that nigga Vital, we from the same hood
|
| The Country Club, where niggas love to nub
|
| Push Scrape thing with whistle and dubs and grub
|
| It’s so rough, so tough out here baby
|
| We got that puff and that fluff stuff out here baby
|
| Come out here baby, come visit the Bay
|
| Like them boys in LA nigga we don’t play
|
| With the atmosphere is different nigga have to keep it pimpin
|
| Nigga you ain’t got no bitches, you ain’t gettin your trippin
|
| I’m yokin and dippin, totin my equipment
|
| Gone off a fifth, floatin and I’m trippin
|
| Me and Vital, nigga we finna put a hit out
|
| Yet the game is rough boy we tryin to get out |