And I'ma let that MAC fly just like my nigga Durk (Bow)
I'ma let this MAC fly with this one, hold on
I said I'ma let it
Alright, come on, aight
(Von, von)

Got a drop on this flexin' nigga, he from Tennessee
I had a thot, she be with the shits, she told me where he be
I say, "For sure, baby let me know, if you wanna eat"
She like "Von, you already know, just put put your girl on fleek"
I'm like "Cool, I can do that, boo, what you want, some shoes?
Jimmy Choo, with a handbag too, red or baby blue?"
She get to smiling, she ain't used to this 'cause she ain't used to shit
I'm just laughing, could have been a pimp the way I move my lips
I be speeding, could have been a driver the way I push the whip
You a hoe, could have been a bitch the way you throw a fit
But fuck that, right back to the script 'cause this a major lick
He got bricks, plus his neck is icy and it match his wrist
Now it's like 6, told her hit his phone
Meet her in the Wic, but he ain't go
But he ain't that slow, said meet him at the store
I'm like cool, let him front his move, do what he gon' do
'Cause this the plot, put him in a pot, let it cook like stew
I grab my Glock, it been through a lot but it still shoot like new
We at the top, yeah we lost a lot, but that's just how go
But check the score, if y'all lose one more, that's 6 to 24
Let me focus, can't be zoning out, he pulling up now
He double parked, he ain't getting out, he in that push-to-start
That new Porsche, it's built like a horse, colors like the fork
He got a ring, I guess he in divorce, wife probably a whore
Now she walk up, she struttin' her stuff, this bitch thick as fuck
Got in the truck, kissed him on his lip, he cuffin' that butt
Now I sneak up, crouching like a Tiger, like Snoop off the Wire
The block on fire, so I take precaution, mask on, Michael Myers
I'm on his ass, he finna be mad, he gon' beat her ass
But this what happened
I got to the door, I thought I was cappin'
I was lackin', 'cause there go the opps, yellin' out "What's crackin?"
I'm like, what? I'm like nigga, who? I was born to shoot
I got aim, I'm like Johnny Dang, when it comes to chains
So I ride, hit one in his arm, hit one in his thigh
This no lie, bitch it's do or die, you say you gon' slide?
You got some nerve, yo' shit on the curb, boy we put in work
From 64th, and from 65th, we not from 63rd

I got a drop on a rappin' nigga, I be from the 'Raq
I'm like, cool, better not front yo' move, or you become a pack
You see Von, you see 40 Glocks, see Booka, you see MAC
Yeah free Mack, gone for a double homi, foenem got yo' back
But fuck that, say you smoking who? Quickest way to die
Snatch who chain? Off who neck? Not mine, ain't no point in trying
They not out, plus the police hot, ain't no point in sliding
They be talking from the internet, they don't be outside
Hit the 6, call DaDa out, tell him 'bout a lick
We need tape, we need rope and foams, don't forget the blicks
He like, "Cool, how that nigga look?" I pull up some flicks
He like, "Damn, I think I know the nigga" He cool with his bitch
We at V-Live, but we went to Structure, but we played a lot
Got a goofy walking in and out, telling me his car
He in a Cat, bet, I'ma pay you half, just finesse
I'm 300, clips don't come like that, 3 drums to his chest
Boom boom boom!

Bitch, we lurking 63rd, aye (aye, aye aye)
Bitch, we lurking 63rd, aye (aye, aye aye)
(Dress game, put in work, aye, aye, aye)

Copyright: SMALLBUTBIG MUSIC GROUP, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Darrel Jackson, Dayvon Bennett, Durk Banks