| It’s so saucy |
| Know what I’m sayin' |
| Mmh, man, I think this shit is 'bout 2007 |
| Chamberlain, he’s got it |
| Chicago, am I 17? |
| Maybe, yeah, 17 |
| Some shit like that |
| Inglewood, South Side, man |
| Winter time, you know what I’m sayin'? |
| Gold-huntin' baby |
| Auntie breathin' on the respirator |
| Cigarettes in the ashtray, burn the kitchen 'bout her mashed potatoes |
| Grandma playin' the lottery, havin' the funnest dreams of havin' paper |
| OG’s walkin' down the block in Maury suits and bare gators |
| I was outside with the vicelords and the paper chasers |
| Folks end up four corner hustlin', shootin' by skyscrapers |
| Ridin' on the L with a handheld in my coat daily |
| Mama made me a coke baby, I sold what she smoked daily |
| Had me livin' so brazy, twenty-seventh floor, blazin' |
| OG kush hazin', but the sacks was small as two raisins |
| Copped me two zips for 700, that was too brazy |
| Pounds of reggie 12 hundred, sharp money, used to scrape payment |
| Tried to make him come down to Texas but he was too lazy |
| The way this shit would roll back then, we missed a cool eighty |
| Evisu my jeans in the winter, though |
| I was drippin' in Timberlands in the snow |
| Out in Chiraq, I’m fuckin' on college hoes |
| Presidential towers, all the real niggas know |
| I had bitches in art school to pay my clothes |
| Every time they threw parties, I got new hoes |
| Only nigga that’s country, mouth full of gold |
| Never lack or you’ll get shot at the corner store |
| That was nothin' to me, I been known that code |
| I came back to my city and hell I rose |
| I came back to my city and hell I rose |
| That’s some shit that everybody knows |
| Ooh-wee |
| Sauce 1200, 70 block, 80 block |
| RIP Mama Sauce, nigga |