Steady ridin' low, eyes steady swole
Feel like death row, 1994
$uicide tears, drippin' off our mothers
Bullets in the chamber of the
Pistol in the cupboard
Got a couple black tees
With that indo sparkin'
Bitch, don't even look my way
'cause I fuckin' hate talkin'
Got them spinners on the hearse
Bitches for dessert po' me up a fo'
I'm sipping codeine 'til the dirt

Ridin' 'round Texas in a Lexus
With a Florida license plate
Outta state, eating grapes, blowin'
Dank, no yank, bitch
Dry as fucking weed
$lick, havin' a panic attack with the Mac on
His lap and now he makin' beats
Smurf in the back tryna get some sleep
Gas tank on E, not a stain on me, sunset
Cool breeze lookin' at the moon and then
I turn into a goon i'm doing what I please
Throwin' up some fuckin threes

Slide in deep while I'm tipped
Tryna run cash up
Steady fiendin' more income
Like, "Damn, bruh
What I gotta do to get out
Of these problems I'm facing?"
Light a smooth J in my right hand
Got bitches just like U2 get the cash, man
I didn't always have for the cab, man
Ain't no tellin' what a nigga do to you
Shake your hand or just shoot through you
I'm the man that you show
Respect when seen cruisin' through
Either that or get that ass fanned up
Matter fact, I rather run bands up
Meet the pocket chopper, mini rocket launcher
Stay out the way or get bagged up, nigga

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Songtrust Ave
Writer(s): Aristos Petrou, John Crawford, Scott Arcenaux