[Intro (A Capella): Rogers]

Since a seed I was surrounded by people who blew trees, and consumed by greed

I was always down...

Mamma warned me about fuckin' around

We all love to sin, but rather dip than sit when consequences come around

Rollin' around with the windows down

Middle fingers up, aiming at any fucks, acting immature and loud

Mamma always told me that I was hell bound...

[Verse 1: Rogers]

Seventeen born and raised near crime scenes

Wicked minded, check the neighborhood website

Crook sited

Jagger rolling up heavy green

Bottle capsules full of PCP

About to levitate out of our seats

I'm drunk as fuck and I finnah drive tonight

Pedestrian out of luck

Got him bleeding out on the side

Walk, Cross walk me you finnah get hit

Pull over and refigure your face with a brick

Mailbox is what I'm bound to hit

When I'm drunk driving a stick shift

My middle finger joints be the stiffest, (FUCK YOU)

Pull into a middle school and wave to all the kids

Introduce them to a 9 and a Mac 11

Haha..

I'm kidding bruh

I'm still a little sane

But this weed be getting to my brain

Finnah kill this pop ass faggot Zane

Line them all up in One Direction

Point the revolver in their Direction, (Blat!)

One shot, collateral damage

Then rob their body's, scavengers and savages

FS, we spreading through your society like a virus

Three Men working late at night

Three housewives

And three kitchen knives

Painted each one bloody red in the broad moon light

I'm alive in the night, Cudi

Got frost bite on my wrist, Rolex heavy

I steal your beats and kill em

Charged with Kidnapped and premeditated murder

Meet you in court with a dagger

And stab the jury in the chest till they can no longer talk just blabber

Yeah motha fucka I got them hell

Yeah motha fucka I got them hell bound

[Verse 2: Rogers]

A revolver loaded with six shells

That are all expelled

Pull the trigger an force them to enroll in your brain cells

I got a hit list

Well, it's more of a shit list

Full of boy bands who should of been born with woman's breast and be addressed as bitches

I got knuckles full of braces

Blades that are all inside of my ex's faces

I'll pull a bitch by her weave, spank her ass, and make her roll my trees

Six grams of weed

Six joints rolled to the six point

Blowing two O's cubed

Yeah that's to the third power

Now go ahead and subtract two

Laced with cocaine

Selling it to minors

So their high school has HIGH expectations

But fall far below standards

[Verse 3: Crude]

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[Verse 4: Crude]

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[Outro: Rogers]

The area code is Three digits

One plus Five

We got Three Six packs with Three bitches that were all born on the 6th of June

The 6th be our 4th of July

Tell heaven ain't no one standing in line

(Yeah mother fucker I got em hell bound!)