| Get in the ship, we’re about to take off! | 
| OK, I, I’m coming | 
| Here we go, up, up and away! | 
| (One, two, two, two) | 
| (Beats to Dabrye) | 
| (Jealous shit) | 
| Yo, uh, without fame, I’m making the rhyme hall | 
| Spiked slimeballs, peddlin' signoffs | 
| Tryna eat off the plate like wide balls | 
| Razor the back of the blunt, no | 
| Fire, it don’t get no flyer | 
| Vodka, splash of papaya | 
| No, I don’t preach to the choir | 
| Even when my life look dire | 
| I kept that tunnel vision, money mission | 
| Peace to my bloodline | 
| We need them plates, all fixin’s | 
| We need sides and all, survived every rise and fall | 
| The best daddy | 
| Screamin' «Fuck 'em all!» | 
| like a sex addict | 
| More ties than a dress jacket | 
| I clean up good, I’m doin' dirt wit' the dirt doers | 
| In a beat up hood', Guilt' | 
| We out there | 
| Get it together, get it together | 
| Get it together, get it together | 
| Yo, uh, yo, I told y’all I’m special | 
| Unique, one of one, none other, run for cover | 
| Baby motherfucker | 
| Wit' yo better half rollin' grams | 
| Raise arms like a show of hands | 
| So advanced, I’m deep wit' it | 
| You should roll ya pants up | 
| Pickup stronger than a Dodge Ram truck | 
| Wit' the weight in the back, we take what we lack | 
| Catch me in the club wit' the greats pourin' 'gnac | 
| Like we own the joint, truth tellers | 
| Never affected by the new sellers | 
| Same shit in a new get up | 
| I tell my engineer, «Loop that up | 
| And go in like it’s flu weather.» | 
| AD’s the family, no crew’s better | 
| I bet that against whoever |