| I’m selling peace on Earth, God | 
| I’m trying not to be so worked, God | 
| For what it’s worth, I’m overtime | 
| Grind until the sun up | 
| Jewel polishing, tryna stay an honest man with my come up | 
| Niggas keep testing me, I’m tryna put these guns up | 
| They got me looking like a redneck, looking for trespassers | 
| All these demons in my way, I’m tryna brush past them | 
| The psychology of armed robbery excites them | 
| Indictment for my writing did more than enlighten | 
| Just ask them, did some fighting on the way up | 
| Lost a couple partners, now I’m just past ten | 
| And one of them going in he might catch a L or | 
| Get a one to ten, I’m just tryna reel him in | 
| Keep him safe from this jungle | 
| But it’s hard to keep these apes out the rumble, I was tryna make amends | 
| Stack a couple ends | 
| Cause there’s no ends to this life that we live so I’m on my Jet ish | 
| Shout to Curren$y, a nigga straight respect it | 
| Just enjoy this life, fall in love, lay back and enjoy your wife | 
| And think twice before you throw the dice | 
| Think twice before you throw the dice | 
| Think twice before you throw the dice | 
| Uh, heavy is the wrist that carries the crown | 
| My Rolex represents the work that I put down | 
| I hustled hard for this | 
| Getting it, riding 'round, soft top '76 | 
| Become a legend in the south, nigga we the shit | 
| Jet Life got yo bitch’s fingers hella sticky from the doobie twisting | 
| Fool if you ain’t up on things | 
| I know you seen me and Stalley exiting that plane | 
| Jamaica living playa, I’m too high for you to aim at | 
| Laid back, ordering some wings in my wave cap | 
| Nigga, I live like my dead homeboy still here | 
| Order a hundred bottles and sit 'em by empty chairs | 
| It’s just money, we hustling, we gon' get more of it | 
| I counted a hundred grand this morning | 
| Them niggas gon' hate and them hoes gon' - you know | 
| Paint the perfect picture with the perfect scriptures | 
| They call me the perfect enigma | 
| The haters call me the example of a perfect stigma | 
| But to be quite perfect, I ain’t perfect nigga | 
| I mean I could be perfect wit' ya | 
| But I’d rather puff the swisher and listen to some Mister | 
| Styrofoam, no glasses | 
| Codeine poured thicker than molasses, I’m leaning when I’m blowed | 
| I’m just speaking what I know, they say I walk like a show | 
| Motion picture, full feature | 
| I’m numb to what’s going on, no emotions, hard to reach him | 
| And I keep my circle small so I’m hard to leech from | 
| And I’m living like Robin Leach, son | 
| Lifestyles of the rich and famous, I ain’t leased one | 
| All them Chevys mine and completely done | 
| Rallies dualies and the T-tops when I need to see the sun |