(The is the 903)

[Verse 1: TX Killa]

I'm the illest, I'm the realist, and I'm signing your checks

Going through your whole squad asking, “Who's up next?”

Trapping one way or another, we still moving the bricks

Clown around in my town, hear the Uzi click

O.M.G., I'm the O.G., I think you know me

These days, getting paid by The 903

99% of the game below me

Damn, the top of the hill so lonely

End of the day, sleep inside my house in the hills

Laugh in my face at the place and still send me the bill

And speaking of bills, it's about time for you to duck

Got the gat and the will of a man who does not give a fuck

The shit used to get to me, but I'm stronger now (now)

Continue making my shit and tune out the clowns (clowns)

Man, I love these fake friends that’re actually haters

‘Cause they fuel the machine that gets me my paper (Ya!)

[Hook: Progress]

I'm a, real killer, drug dealer, heart stealer

I'm a loose trigger; dick's bigger than your dollar figure

Fucking bitches, getting' money, Mayweather

Driving through your hood in a Phantom with the black leather

It’s easy, damn, it’s too easy

Easy, damn, it’s too easy

Easy, damn, it’s too easy

Easy, damn, it’s too easy

[Verse 2: Rick Stone]

I see you (you), and you see me (me)

But where I come from, staring is a felony

I've killed men for less (less), and let ‘em off for worse (worse)

I murdered three piggies in less time than this verse

Rick's the Big Bad Wolf, bark, bark, bark

I'll suit up and blast your ass like a young Tony Stark (boom!)

All the guys I thought was homies really wanna kiss up

While bitches send me pics, saying, “You can tear this up!”

My mind's on another plane, I'm the next to Alan Watts

The only distractions I have in life are drugs and bad thoughts

I know that I'm flying higher, them haters be wearing wires (why?)

I'm just preaching to the choir, ‘cause Rick Stone's the Messiah (true)

The hate you’re sending me is like a breath of fresh air

Bitches and posers crying, "It's just not fair!"

Become so reclusive, I'm sick of life so completely

What's the point of life when everything I do is fuckin easy?

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Progress]

Rolling through my hood with the silver 24's

I got your girl riding shotgun, going real slow

Blast the new 903 out the back of the trunk

Got the law on my ass, they can kiss it, pucker up

Then I slam on the gas, peel out, motherfucker

Then I pull up on the bank, deal it out, motherfucker

Tell 'em, "Put it in the bag," then I'm out, motherfucker

Don't give me no lip, I'll get the steel out, motherfucker

'Cause we raw (raw), we the 903

We got the game on lockdown and we buried the key

TX Killa, cold-trilla, super-califragilistic-expi-ali-docilicious, we the realist in this building

Rhyme's sick like it's getting pneumonia (so sick)

Who's the best? Well, I already told ya (we the best)

Hate to burst your pathetic little bubble

But you come around us, you just asking for trouble

Motherfucker

[Hook]