Come in the backroom
Backing up like, I don't give a fuck
Gotta move the bricks, bands
So I could get the truck
What up with it, buddy?
Side

Uh, dirty (dirty)
Money, I'ma make you look dirty, poke it out
Funny how the world caught up with me (yeah)
Heard them pigs in New York don't fuck with me
Sheeple (sheeple)
Keep it transparent, y'all see-through
Help me out
Mama used to bump Grizzy, no Beatles
Big man tried to get a seat from the Eagles
Karma
In L.A. With that bookie playing contra
Nasty
You gon' meet the fist like Arthur (uh)
Lost crew with the cops, I'm Lana
Two cigs, Big Pun and Fat Joe, they twins
Pull it out, get to mumbling like Sims
And I don't need twenty niggas to defense
Dirty

Get low
Huh? Get low
Uh, uh
Fuck
Better have ten not nine, nigga, we

Dawg, look at these niggas
Grind my teeth how they spit so much filler (for real)
Wannabes used to wanna be wiggas
Same wannabes wanna be killers, mh-mh
Weak-ass rhymes (weak), weak-ass lines (weak)
Same old synths, them weak-ass slides (facts)
Fresh carpool, this lane all mine (uh)
Already lapped, can't nobody get by
Who you gon' call when the trends all die? (Ayy)
Niggas follow, I been walkin' my path the whole time (yeah)
Shit hurts worse when you deep in the grind
Out on bail like Pac in the prime
Style so slutty, even you gotta try it (what else?)
My shit, yeah, big drum on the .9 (what else?)
When you spit subs, you doin' your own time
And you can't it get back, niggas know I ain't lyin'

Huh
Huh

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Barrington DeVaughn Hendricks