Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

If I could die from disses
I probably would've been cremated (I probably would've been cremated)
I came up (M-M-M-Murda)
From servin' them sacks of hard to a free baser (servin' them Ps)
Arguin' with God when I paid the bond
He ain't free Kada (ain't free lil' man)
You ain't dedicated if you don't hop out on feet chasin' (feet chasin')
Niggas dead broke, say the key to paper is be patient (nigga, fuck that)
But fuck waitin', been tryna bump lately (fuck that)
Live local, late break-in
High clucked out ridin' with enough rounds to knock a truck down
You hear that rip sound, nigga, better get down 'fore he get found
Spit it from a switch round, dead nigga kiss clouds and I'm rich now
And I still ain't switch crowds (I still ain't switched up)
Can't put my blick down (can't put my blick down)
I probably never will (I never will)
Red called me from heaven said, "You better chill"
Maybe it was hell, but I couldn't tell 'cause I'll answer still (still I answer for a bro)
I get high and hope that I'll forget my mama's cancer chills
Bullets hurt, made me hooked to 'ercs, I gotta have my pills
She hurt me first, even at my worst, I still pay half her bills (pay half her bills)
It's a opp survived, through grace of God, I pray he lack again (Lord, I pray he lackin')
It's OT folks, lowkey want that smoke, I don't be tappin' in (no, I don't be tappin' in)
Real gangsta, I can't speak on no beef I ain't active in (on no beef I ain't active in)
They respect my money 'cause it's bloody, I still actually spin (blood on my money)
Don't just throw your hood up 'cause you from it
Nigga, what have you did? (What you doin' in your hood?)
All I need's a yoley, lil' brodie, chops and a pack of cigs
Pitch a tent, sit out front his crib, right where this nigga live

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): George Stone III, Jonathan Gaboff, Shane Lindstrom, Thomas Horton