[Verse 1:]
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Most of these rap niggas be fakin',
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I'm talking the throne chasers.
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I diss em on any basis,
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Throw Patron shots to my face and
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Stay blooded like Jamaicans
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At Marley's puffing the finest jeeba,
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F*cking the finest divas,
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If I haven't, I'd like to meet ya.
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Show you how I light the streets up.
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Kill niggas that never speak up.
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You my fans, sit in the stands
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And watch me rip these beats up.
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Like a legend, feel my presence like the dead ones.
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If I die, my only wish is my face on some Air 1's.
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My son's girl, my baby mama's, they drive Sixes.
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That's for my bitches,
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There's other rappers out there that's trickin'.
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My only mission was to sell a couple records,
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Buy a Bentley and drive wreckless,
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A big medallion on my necklace.
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I've seen Kane and Rakim do it,
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So much respect kid.
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Hip Hop is dead because you new niggas don't get the message.
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I use to call names out,
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You niggas don't deserve it, so lame out,
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Die from these bullets out of Game's mouth.
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[Verse 2:]
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My flow polished,
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I studied the legends.
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Hip Hop scholar, gettin' knowledge,
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Get dollars.
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You got some work, than holler.
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I'm on the block pitchin.
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Most of us got riches,
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Not trippin', work hydraulics
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And f*ck the hot bitches.
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Youngins don't stop wishin,
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If you got a block then flip it.
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Just because I'm blood,
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Don't mean my niggas should stop crippin'.
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We from the ghetto,
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We came up without a pot to piss in.
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We gettin' money, stayin' blooded,
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Cause the clock is ticking.
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You got a rock then pitch it.
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You got a glock then lift it.
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Them G-Unot t-shirts
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Make them niggas stop snitchin'.
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Forever ballin, I'm Jim Jones,
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With rims on
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That blue Aston Martin,
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Interior like my skin tone.
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Most of these rappers want me dead...
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Shit I've been gone.
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2 classic, move rappin'.
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My jewels black as,
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The first 8 letters in everything I stand for,
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Colder than the New York block,
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Shut the damn door.
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[Verse 3:]
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Niggas callin' me back for an Encore,
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Like I'm Eminem.
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I disappear niggas like spinna-rims.
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Who the f*ck want war
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Me to set the corner store,
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Call it the hot spot,
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Where gangbangers throw hot rocks.
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The boys comin',
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So what they pop cops.
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Push them high drops out with them shirts on
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And say we got rocks.
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High-school drop out,
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There to air the block out.
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Stack paper like the OG's do.
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We only chirp on Nextels,
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Don't talk on the Motorolas.
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Gotta feel that, so kick back.
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Soak up what I'm sayin',
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Picture me Parlayin.
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I'm flippin' bricks
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While you eatin' pussy,
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You chicken shit.
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I f*ck bitches on they time,
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I chow with they dime
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Gettin' head under tables,
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Everybody stay calm.
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