[Intro]

(Good job, 1st)

[Verse]

Lately, I've been goin’ through some shit, but I'll be okay

Got real-life shit goin' on, ain’t nothin' to do with pape'

Drunk a whole eight of Wock', you should see my face

Can't even keep my fuckin' eyes open on the interstate

Get your weight up, lil' nigga, yeah, I been in shape

I'm stickin’ to the fuckin’ G code, I won't bend or break

Keep the grass cut low so I can see the snakes

You walk around with your life savings, you don’t need a safe

Took a half a ticket to the bank, gotta keep it safe

I prayed for that shit and went and got it, I believe in faith

Mama tellin' me to get some rest, but I don't need a break

I need the house with the swimming pool and a brand new Wraith

Just bought a new watch, but not to tell time

I really live the shit you hear me rappin', I don’t tell lies

I don't post drugs on the 'net, bitch, I sell mine

Spent a dub in the Louis store just to kill time

Can't wait 'til they free my nigga out the joint

'Cause we gon' ball on they ass from Miami to Detroit

I'm the heart and the soul of my city, plus the voice

Had to get it out the mud, i ain't have no other choice

Sippin' mud, you can hear it in my voice

Six hundred for the Baccarat cologne, got her moist

Rich nigga, catch me slidin' through my city in a Porsche

I sold crack when I was young, I really never played sports

Twelve hundred for the jeans, only wear 'em once

Thirty-five hundred for a jacket, that's a pair of buffs

Niggas couldn't fuck with us alone, now they pairin' up

I'm really not concerned what they be on, I don't care enough

Hit a bad bitch form the back, gotta tear it up

Be careful when you cookin' up crack, gotta stir it up

Cuttin' up an onion in the packs got me tearin' up

I made a couple mil' and came back, I'm a real one

Yeah, I ain't never left my niggas in a jam

Yeah, I ain't never ever did a fuckin' scam

Yeah, this a Caddy truck, this is not a Ram

I'm into sellin' whole chickens, baby, I am not a ham

Sick of niggas talkin' like they rich and they ain't got a band

I'll sic them niggas on your pussy ass and I ain't gotta pay 'em

I just made fifty this morning, you are not aware

You goin' through your bitch cellphone, you really not a player

Got a mixed bitch with good credit and a lot of hair

I can't put my phone in my pocket, it's a knot in there

Had to blend in in West V, wearin' college gear

I'm trappin' in the commonwealth state, this shit hot as hell

Got circles for the low, I cut 'em out a square

Niggas perpin' on the low, they ain't got no bread

In my hood, I got juice, I ain't Radames

The dictionary might run out of words 'fore I run out of bread