Ft. Styles P, Young Buck & Uncle Murda

Tell 'em that I'm riding again

Shoot a ^!$$%'s cars,
Don't make me hit the hydrant again
Everyday I wake up, it's like

I'm live on the sand smoke
Hayz and bubbling paper, swallowing gin
Everywhere I go, dirty ^!$$% follow me in

I'm back in the truck, I'm yapping the cup
Drunk enough to $#&@ around and shoot the passenger up
Couple of ^!$$%s follow on bikes,

They hollow the pipes, they slide off
I put your brain fiest, swallow the knife
I say lil' ^!$$%, play your position,

I ain't gonna book you, your momma would
When I'mma come through the kitchen
And you know you are nearer to Don OP

I'm nailing the bricks
Day deal, I got the deal with the concrete
Need a connector in Long Beach

A shooter in New York
I need good weed within arm reach
Know that they act like they ride y'all

Whenever it's my call
Tell on ^!$$%s, they shot out their eyeballs
Gotta stay true to the reaper, these ^!$$%s is ants

I'ma blast like the studio flickers
I preserve dope from the federal reserve
Ask a ghost, man, you deserve host

Two guns up, it's the three guns up
I say die for my ^!$$%s is the four word oath
Rather dying D-Block, ^!$$%, I do that too

Got tens in the p.m. in Brooklyn
Lookin' for some Dominican ^!$$%s, they be cookin'
I pushing through these barrels followed

By two Camaros, Mac90 beside me,
With the airwholes
Grinding (*##$es on the tape too

Don't wet clothes
Set a ^!$$% up just to get something up in their nose
All my ^!$$%s sell O's and roll cygarellos

Rich country ^!$$%s with some ash elbows
Dropped a hundred bricks with some cakeds and some chateaus