| Something’s in the attic, drugs on me, thugs gettin'
|
| Bubbly, let’s pop, surround the block, looking lovely
|
| Extra nine glindin' on me, women who barely know me
|
| Swarm me, faggots try to front, blow me
|
| Aiyo, I’m from the soul bluntly, we in them H2's coolin'
|
| Want me, try to kill a kid, bring your country
|
| Son’s nice with rifles, white fools, white dudes
|
| Jumpin' out, fed jackets, dare you to bump me
|
| A glow like Willie Bostic, I do the knifework job, yeah
|
| Rappers sprint, clap 'em, this is our 'jects
|
| Who taught ya’ll niggas, it was the kid with the tarantula
|
| Tinted up, extortin' ya’ll monthly
|
| Crabs in a bucket, rap, fuck it, yo, go get your handgun
|
| I’d rather shoot yo' ass in public, you ain’t a Air Force boss
|
| You a hoster, frontin' like me on your poster
|
| Now ya’ll niggas fuckin' with my ones
|
| We need to battle for cattle, acts, boats, art and crafts
|
| Scalpals, thumb rings, dick, be careful
|
| Fuckin' with Staten Island’s heartless
|
| Son of all flames, God guard frames, catch me with the Starks kid
|
| The authentic Ghost, we on the golf course, with rentin' boats
|
| Eagles on, feastin' with bigger GOATs
|
| Come take it in blood, dare any thug to re-up
|
| What, we gon' keep it on the hush
|
| In the clubs, where you at?
|
| In the clubs, where you at?
|
| Open paperchasing, on the low getting trapped
|
| Aiyo, drove into the water like bait, the ocean was dark
|
| The moon lit, swimmin' to the bottom to get to the sink
|
| We on niggas, and we comin' boy, talk with ya gun
|
| Me, I’m ready, and I’m ready with cake, yea
|
| Flawless, more powerful horses, the kid flow naucious
|
| Everybody gettin' weeded, we all for this
|
| Armored tank style, moving in ranks
|
| Hundred that’ll rock for me, still kill you, over your men bitch
|
| Skiing in Alaska, half the man, half Casper
|
| Runnin' with wolves, the bulls look nastier
|
| Silencer, each is thee least, will kill on Easter
|
| Ya’ll gon' get it, wait til we get creased up
|
| Nothin' but, rapid fire, livewire, brand new trees
|
| Burn 'em up, they respectin' your street, cousin
|
| We gon' bring it to every label, pay attention, ya’ll
|
| Cuban is back, now put that on a glass table |