[Chorus: Blue Pesos]

It's the new era, this ain't the nineties

We don't do the Dickie suits with the Chucks, that ain't West no more (Young Kid, you made this?)

I know we just chalkzoned your friend, but just let that go (Niggas get shot up every day)

I am not these other rappers, just to let you know

Where the cheese? Bitch, please, I got places to be

If he say he want smoke, put his face on a tee

I hopped up off the porch when I was young and I stayed in the street

It took you six months to savе up what I made in a week

[Verse 1: Blue Pesos]

Sock it to my pockets, lil' baby, 'cause talkin' is chеap

Ring, ring, who that callin'? I think that's Ben Franklin

Opps in my DMs, niggas woofin', I don't entertain it

If he ain't go and make that diss, he probably would've made it

Considered famous and it's crazy, still be livin' janky

Get up in that mode off this drank, I'm off that good Quagen

Gotta keep your own strap 'cause can't nobody save you

I got the LA swag for real, just take a look at it

My white nigga holdin' a chop', he look like B Rabbit

Lookin' for the yen, spotted Susie, then I chinstrapped her

Gettin' to the dough, nonstop, taekwon' master

Do the foreigns on Forgiatos, not the low riders, bitch

[Chorus: Blue Pesos & Duffy]

It's the new era, this ain't the nineties

We don't do the Dickie suits with the Chucks, that ain't West no more

I know we just chalkzoned your friend, but just let that go

I am not these other rappers, just to let you know

Where the cheese? Bitch, please, I got places to be

If he say he want smoke, put his face on a tee

I hopped up off the porch when I was young and I stayed in the street

It took you six months to save up what I made in a week (Shit)

[Verse 2: Duffy]

How much I make to talk on beats? You wouldn't believe

Strapped my cleats up, my whole team got cases to beat

For y'all that's playin' in between, it's some shit up my sleeve

Pull up in they hood with five foreigns, we bleedin' the scene (Huh)

30 clip, I'll dump the whole magazine

Niggas in the house like quarantine, I'm where that money be

I just poured another three of drank, that's gon' replenish me

It was a close game, but Off The Mussle took the victory

I'll serve a nigga on a silver platter

Yeah, I heard your homie got flatlined, it doesn't matter

It's 2024, nigga, we ain't wearin' flannels

Got love for the old school, it's just a lil' different now

Get a bag, the blue faces, niggas makin' mad faces

Nigga, we don't tote rags, or no red and blue laces

I don't want no hydraulics, we in foreigns drag racin'

Rockin' with some 6-O's and West B's, that's just LA shit

Mob shit, name good with locs and go-getters

From the block to the blade with the pimps and ho bitches

Dope dealers find my pints, the seal still up on the bottle

Ridin' 'round with semi autos, push this bitch full throttle

See you hangin' with them niggas, that ain't West, lil' bro

I pulled up and I was told this ain't they hood no more

Bitch, I'm married to the game, I love the streets more than hoes

Off The Mussle for the win, we got our foot in the door

Bitch

[Outro]

(Young Kid, you made this?)

(Niggas get shot every day, man)