| Talking 'bout me on the internet, waiting for me to write back
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| Got in my lane and caught some fame, he didn’t like that
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| This a letter to him, I’ma tell him how I feel
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| Is it me or him like the fact I got a record deal
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| I ain’t never went out bad and that’s on neighborhood crip
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| How the fuck you say you raised me and I met you last year?
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| I told my partners to chill, boy you could’ve been killed
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| Somethin' deep down been tellin' me don’t you cock back the steel
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| 'Cause I got somethin' to lose and you got somethin' to prove
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| Goin' live on FaceBook, flexin' with all your tools
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| The only good advice you gave is take our pistol to school
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| Visits on my rounds killin' me or is it deja vu?
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| 'Cause it’s too good to be true, is you really gon' shoot?
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| This a song to the fans but this a letter to you
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| How the fuck I bet your hand and you ain’t never did shit for me
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| Locked up, call Griffin, you couldn’t send a couple cents to me
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| Drop down to my knees, lord do you hear me?
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| It’s a dirty world, matter fact it’s filthy
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| Judge held a grudge, I swear to God that I’m not guilty
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| My heart steady screamin' out, lord please heal me
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| If it really was some pressure why the fuck you ain’t gon' slide on me?
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| Put my trust in DJ then that nigga testified on me
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| Double back, come strapped with the MAC
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| That day he tried to put that fire on me
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| No face, no case, I emptied out that four five on me
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| In the city where I’m from, I swear it’s kill or be killed
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| You gotta stay up on your pivot, anybody can get it
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| Before I walk up out the door I swear I’m tuckin' my steel
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| Mama be prayin' every night because my city get wicked, yeah yeah
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| In the city where I’m from, I swear it’s kill or be killed
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| You gotta stay up on your pivot, anybody can get it
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| Before I walk up out the door I swear I’m tuckin' my steel
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| Mama be prayin', 'cause she know that my city get wicked, yeah yeah
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| Yeah yeah (speak them facts nigga)
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| Yeah yeah (speak them facts nigga)
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| Uh uh, Quando Rondo nigga (grrah) |