| I was starin' them pots over with terrorist block soldiers
|
| Yeah, I went from heroin to a Merrill Lynch stock broker (Ah)
|
| She coulda got a pair of tits from the pair of kicks I’m quotin'
|
| All my hoes crazy, I can’t fuck unless she bipolar
|
| Eastside legend like Sly and Rodney C
|
| I really beat white, I’m Mr. T from Rocky III
|
| You let these hoes sweet talk you, you niggas get rocked to sleep
|
| You pay that bitch rent, I ask that ho what she got for me (What you got for me?
|
| They know I’m up now, but my only hustle was not the streets (Nah)
|
| So when they touched down, I can still front you a block a piece
|
| I know hoes that won’t fuck you and jewelers that’s out your reach (Uh-huh)
|
| I don’t hate niggas, I see 'em as students that I can teach (Butcher)
|
| Ayo, I’m in these streets waist deep (Talk to 'em)
|
| If I can’t eat with you, you can’t eat (Hah)
|
| That’s how we give it up on May Street (May Block, pussy)
|
| May Street, pistol whip you, you get your face beat (Cap)
|
| .40, no safety, tucked right where my waist be (What's poppin'?)
|
| Yeah, race to the top, who wanna race me? |
| (Uh-huh)
|
| I don’t chase money, money chase me (I'm gettin' bags, nigga)
|
| Countin' these bands, it’s been a great week (Cap)
|
| 'Member, I cooked my first deuce, that jar busted in Renee seat (I was fucked
|
| up)
|
| I feel like Cam, painted the Wraith pink (Hah)
|
| Bitches like, damn, they wanna taste me (Uh-huh), skeleton AP (You see me)
|
| Give me a minute, bro, I can’t think (Hold up)
|
| I’m too busy countin' this money for the lawyer so my dog can get his case beat
|
| (We on the way, nigga)
|
| Yeah, I been a G since I jumped off the porch (Hah)
|
| Still ridin' with the pump in the Porsche (Cap)
|
| Yeah, still G-ridin', leave you slumped on your porch (Boom, boom, boom)
|
| I came up hustlin' the stuff that you snort
|
| Them niggas sneak dissin' me, that’s nothin', of course (That's light)
|
| 'Cause I can have them niggas clipped like it’s nothin', of course (Hah)
|
| Rock this designer shit, she wanna know what this shit cost
|
| I told her all you need to know is you fuckin' a boss (Haha)
|
| Yeah, chopper loaded, lock and loaded, snitchin', I do not condone it
|
| Pop his dome in, I don’t know shit, I keep goin'
|
| Forty pointers, watch is frozen, I send ten
|
| From Toronto to San Antonio but it’s not DeRozan, box is loaded up
|
| Ayo, we know it’s fuckin' murder, shoot you, ain’t gon' take it further (Brr)
|
| Hit your son up, hit your daughter, shot your bitch, put on your coffin
|
| Niggas starvin', my niggas in Ferrari with the top off (Skrrt)
|
| And niggas bossin', need talk for stunner bricks, don’t call Steve Austin (Ah)
|
| Fear of God joggers, joggin', niggas think they fake important
|
| To me, you just a fuck nigga, blow your head off soon as I walk in (Boom, boom,
|
| boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
|
| I don’t do no fuckin' talkin', ballin', Just Don sportin'
|
| GT on Rodeo with my rich white bitch (Skrrt, rich white bitch)
|
| Niggas talkin' culture, but not like this (But not like this)
|
| I’m a killer and I’m gonna kill again
|
| I wrote this with a devilish grin
|
| I’m lookin' at his neck full of gold
|
| I know what kind of car he drove
|
| Holy Ghost, his soul that Calico
|
| Any one of my niggas can snuff you
|
| They solid and all official
|
| What would ChineGun do?
|
| Buffalo is ruthless, throw you off the roof shit
|
| Kicked him in his face until he’s fuckin' toothless
|
| Murderous music, I’m from the fuckin' zoo
|
| City full of villains and mobsters too
|
| Burner to his dome, what would ChineGun do?
|
| It’s Griselda, nigga
|
| The Butcher, Machine, Gunn, and Plum
|
| Filthiness riddled all in your eardrum
|
| When it’s a price on your head, it’s not up for discussion
|
| Two slugs in your bitch face, those are the repercussions
|
| This nigga wouldn’t stop pleadin' for his life all of a sudden
|
| We wipe away your whole bloodline
|
| That’s word to slime
|
| So we waitin' until his seeds get off the bus
|
| Guaranteed these lil' bastards gonna put up a fuss
|
| And we slittin' their throats right in front of you
|
| Thoughts of a criminal, what would ChineGun do?
|
| Niggas will pistol whip your granny
|
| Run a train on your mammy
|
| I’m spiteful and death is delightful
|
| Yeah |