If you don't fuck with me then don't fuck with me man feel me
Muerte nigga, dead that
Come on, yo, yeah, shit
I'm a margin shotta Tupac product
Razor Ruddock Rusty revolvers partner
Honor the greats, Don of the State
I'll do your career, broke records in a crate
Check me on the interstate in the Great Lakes
Catch you with a knife or a line or a tape
Superhero no cape
Escape with more cake
Gloves on both hands that fit like OJ
Still you must acquit yards full of Dusty pits
Chicken fights, bitches, saggy tits
Worn out
Torn out the frame like your ex's picture
Freshest mixture
When I speak I collect the riches
The kid's so gifted, it's 365 Christmas
Jones-town is liquids when listening
Slave to a plea deal shout out to prison
When it rained I thought it was God throwing up liquor
Heart turned cold heard the block whisper
This year you gon' be that nigga, nigga
Thanks already know that
Blowback weed like a smokestack
Bird flu of rap still wolf pack
Straight out the bush Walt White dough stack
Chop Shop no cars, pro at SARS bars
Czar cigars silky Cloud superstars
Nigguh!

Copyright: O/B/O DistroKid, Songtrust Ave
Writer(s): JUSTIN DANTE CROSS