| Whats chrakalackin, nackalackin, nigga watcha packin'? |
| Now I hate bitches widda passion |
| high model street fashion |
| I stay weeded with the beat bashin' |
| talkin' shit when I’m smashin' |
| put ma rap down, profound ina virgin town |
| hit the (? mall?) like the God, now I’m splurgin' now |
| crack a rhyme, hard crimes in all Five (? barrels?) |
| its somthin' like Egypt n the Pharo’s |
| gimme the keys to ya' city, I’m a still pick the lock |
| and leave hella clues fo da cops |
| leave fingerprints on tha' glock |
| leave ID on tha' block |
| dawg did ya do it? No I did not |
| gun powder flour, nigga (?) Towers |
| I love gummy bears, sweet n sour |
| dawg it’s tha (?) lyrico, myrical sponge, bitch |
| shell toe Adidas n Air Force Ones, bitch |
| smellin' so cute in ma Sean Jean suit |
| Filmoe street, nigga bus' duce duce |
| its da fellony rhyme n a mellody crime, its heavy |
| ya catch four raps right across ya belly |
| ya big homey, in Vegas like Coleeonie |
| its all real, nota macaroni sin |
| imagine bullets bouncin' off ya chin |
| fo’eva fuckin' off your dirty grin, n den, yeeah |
| 1984, I was on da plane dat was about to soar |
| I was jus fourteen, about to go down n' see my family |
| jus when the plane was about to land, I saw dat ma cousin was da man |
| he gave me da formula, dat was ma summer in Florida |
| In 1984, I was on da plane dat was about to soar |
| I was jus 14, about to go down n see ma family |
| jus when da plane was about to land, I saw dat ma cousin was da man |
| he gave me da formula, dat was ma summer in Florida |