| Uh, yeah, mmmm |
| William H., niggas |
| Holla, yeah, yo |
| That’s why I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| That’s how most of these so called gangstas pass |
| I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| 'Cause when I pull, I always pop, that’s why I’m living today |
| Yo, when I meet ya, I heat ya down |
| When I greet ya, meet ya with pound |
| Not the handshake, but the kind that make ya demand a wake |
| The kind that put land over your face |
| I pop ya, let doctor stitch ya |
| I-N-F-R-A, will not miss ya |
| I move light, like my shoes too tight |
| Leave niggas confused from the day to the night |
| At night, see the light, when the pistol’s sparking |
| Daytime it gets dark when that pistol barking |
| I keep cash 'case cops arrest me |
| 'case kids kidnap me, kids can get back me |
| You shall repent 'fore you spend a red cent |
| If not you, somebody of close descent |
| Thou shalt not fuck with raw me, or he |
| Face a thousand deaths from Mr. Shawn Corey |
| Carter, rap harder like I’m part of a cult |
| Like Cuban cigar maker 'cept I’m hard to smoke |
| And y’all choke, motherfuckers |
| That’s why I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| That’s how most of these so called gangstas pass |
| I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| 'Cause when I pull, I always pop, that’s why I’m living today |
| Yo, I said thou shalt not fuck with raw me, or he |
| Face a thousand deaths from Mr. Shawn Corey |
| Carter, rap harder like I’m part of a cult |
| Like Cuban cigar maker 'cept I’m hard to smoke |
| Thou shalt not fuck with raw me, or he |
| Face a thousand deaths from Mr. Shawn Corey |
| Carter, rap harder like I’m part of a cult |
| Like Cuban cigar maker 'cept I’m hard to smoke |
| And y’all choke, niggas |
| That’s why I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| That’s how most of these so called gangstas pass |
| I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| Cause when I pull, I always pop, that’s why I’m living today |
| Y’all don’t understand |
| I said thou shalt not fuck with raw me, or he |
| Face a thousand deaths from Mr. Shawn Corey |
| Carter, rap harder like I’m part of a cult |
| Like Cuban cigar maker 'cept I’m hard to smoke |
| And y’all choke, niggas |
| I, squeeze first ask questions last |
| 'Cause when I pull, I always pop, that’s why I’m living today |
| See when I’m low on digits, I push blow in a blizzard |
| I’m a player for real, I post and pivot |
| Coke distribute, be where the ghostes visit |
| Where the demons live, shit, my scene is vivid |
| Squeamish kids, y’all get the fuck outta this verse |
| It’s about to get so obscene in a minute |
| I seen and live it, I did some things I admit it |
| Wasn’t proud of it, but I was a child, fuck it |
| Kept a pow tucked in a brown belt |
| Couldn’t sit down, big gun kept sticking my pelvis |
| Shit, it was either that or be living with Elvis |
| Niggas is jealous, hell is hot, you heard X |
| Wanted to tell God that I don’t deserve this |
| Was afraid that he’d tell me I deserve less |
| My life was nervous, you haven’t heard stress |
| 'Til you heard the cries of my mama, me giving her drama |
| Told her I ain’t promised tomorrow, gotta live for the day |
| And before she could say Jay… |
| I was out the door, pouch full of raw, a outlaw mentality |
| Men gotta do men things for men salary |
| Bad Boy, not Puff or Mike Lowery |
| Damn B.I.G. woulda been proud of me |
| Ahh shit man… |
| Young Hova, ya heard? |
| Who could fuck with him? |
| Uh, uh, geah |