| In my prime, and its bout my time to shine
|
| Had enough of struggling, now I’m destined for dolla signs
|
| In my prime, know you hate on all my rhymes
|
| Trying to be a living legend, in my lifetime
|
| In my prime, I’m professing my reason for rhyme
|
| From the slum trying to shine, stacking nickels and dimes
|
| And pursueded the bigger picture, with the states and lace
|
| Jesse James of the rap game, nothing but yellow tape
|
| Homicide when I ride, watch me glide like glide
|
| Killer we still fried and died, and laid to the side
|
| When from cracks to dats man, that’s why the ride sprayed
|
| Chunking hundreds off the stage, cause my bills is paid
|
| Pimping the pen up in a ga-gangsta, a-stacking change
|
| Respect the So-a-Southside, ru-a-running thangs
|
| Ain’t no beefing with the No-a-North, ain’t no pl-a-plex
|
| Just collided and provided you, with music for your deck
|
| '78 Impala Cheve, sitting on top of Yokohama
|
| Moving like I’m the Daytona, transporting marijuana
|
| I sing to a song-a, paid for it you a loner
|
| I ball if I wanna, while turning heads on every corner
|
| In my prime, to see the hustling nickels and dimes
|
| Got a smile on my face, but everything ain’t fine
|
| Stay on my grind, I had to keep a cool mind frame
|
| Day dreaming and fantasizing, FED’s calling my name
|
| Am I insane, just think that I would wanna be rich
|
| Though I’m living in a dream, and still loving this shit
|
| The shoes fit, the game bout to get bent for chedda
|
| Pull up on a box of chedda, with this black baretta
|
| Trend setter, while FED’s be all up in your name
|
| Got a slug to fit your brain, for this kilo of caine
|
| What’s my name, Trey D’s the nigga that’s tatted and all
|
| I live to do you harm, with this mic in my palm
|
| Am I the one, to shoot off in they face like cum
|
| Three times bright as the sun, and your girl time to bond
|
| So forward run, but the K is gonna track you down
|
| For these heros trying Z-Ro, bout to mash and climb
|
| In my prime, cause everyday I shine like the sun
|
| Rap game phenomenon, lyrically I drop bombs
|
| Remember me like Vietnam, with a pistol in my palm
|
| Bout to move my killa swarm, you should of remained calm
|
| We some wig splitters, dumping bullets up in your liver
|
| You shake and you shiver, nothing but casualties I deliver
|
| Ain’t no time for plex, me and that Young collect checks
|
| Fellas be bumping and better respect, and running a check all Mo City bets
|
| Z-Ro the po', coming through the do', with a loaded four-four
|
| From the 44 to Ridgemont 4, taking trips to Akapoko
|
| See my ends they done met with blood, tears and sweat
|
| 26 letters the alphabet, all rap I make bets
|
| Pimping a pen and straight collecting my feddy, its so lovely
|
| My bath water stay bubbly, when I had some of ugly
|
| You can’t touch me, I think I got it under control
|
| I’m feeling my riches ain’t too big, its just my pockets on swoll |