| Balboa fighting in the last round, tap glove
|
| Sudden death, over time shit, no coming back cuz
|
| Sniffing on the powdered dust, eyes wide, make sure
|
| Your shoes tied, we’re running from the reaper in a homicide
|
| Street’s Disciple, legendary Nas shit
|
| Chopper down, move quick hop out the cockpit
|
| Snakes on the plane, hold guns, they on some cop shit
|
| Too late to make friends, son is obnoxious
|
| Respect taken if niggas don’t wanna give it
|
| I close my ears to stories if you ain’t live it
|
| Half these niggas in the game cast reflections
|
| Of Pinocchio, halfway thugs 'til we address 'em though
|
| The weak shall perish when walking amongst the realness
|
| I wrote this straight from the heart, so you should feel this
|
| Lie detectors on Maury couldn’t reveal this
|
| Who’s the father? |
| Many of us busted off
|
| Hot dogs in her face, she wiped the mustard off
|
| LES for a leather, the shit was butter soft
|
| Dome in the stadium, quit because she love to boss
|
| I’m an outdoor speech giver, the podium killer
|
| Nobody realer but God and that’s my nigga
|
| I walk with angels and toast with demons
|
| Two sides to the Gemini mind for different reasons
|
| I was born in the middle when nature was switching seasons
|
| Bang, zoom to the moon, you chilling with Jackie Gleeson |