Okay; comin' from the top of my
 
 Dome when i'm droppin' my
 
 Own type of style, and
 
 Ain't nobody stoppin' my
 
 Rise to the very top
 
 Hit 'em up wit' all i got
 
 Superstar; no i'm not
 
 Green weed; black glock
 
 Everybody want a piece
 
 Dirty like a pair 'a cleats
 
 Niggers run their mouth a lot
 
 Like bitches and parakeets
 
 (whoa) how you love that pimpin'
 
 (whoa) i'm so cold wit' it
 
 (whoa) make all the boys wanna do it just because i did it
 
 I'm like a legend or
 
 Some kind of prophecy
 
 Sent here to set you free
 
 Dress, player, follow me
 
 Into another world
 
 Deep inside your own soul
 
 This shit here way bigger than tattoos and cornrolls
 
 This not 'bout makin' dough
 
 Not 'bout no fakin' yo
 
 Not 'bout who's rich 'o po'
 
 Not 'bout who niggaz know
 
 This here 'bout you and me
 
 This here 'bout poetry
 
 This here 'bout who we be
 
 If you in here with me
 
  
  Keep your ears wide open
 
 This is all grill no jokin'
 
 Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 Better keep your ears open
 
 This is all grill no boastin'
 
 Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 The motherfuckin' aaaaair
  
 
 [eightball]
 
 Nigga you don't know me
 
 Why you niggaz wanna beef?
 
 All in my grill like
 
 You the papparazzi
 
 Boy i was fulla game
 
 Way before this rap thang
 
 Real 'fore the money came
 
 That's why i will never change
 
 Me - ain't nobody like
 
 Even though they try to be
 
 Niggaz think they are but they ain't fuckin' with me lyric'ly
 
 (yo) i was born wit' it
 
 Din't nobody teach it to me
 
 Over hot beef
 
 Tell you 'bout what the streets did to me
 
 (yo) chose me to be a
 
 Prophet and lead my people
 
 Murder non-believers
 
 With lyrics that are lethal
 
 I hit 'em heavy with it
 
 Yo i stay ready wit' it
 
 Come try to test me wit' it
 
 Regret you ever did
 
 Call who a pimp and
 
 I got my own back
 
 You got them baby paper?
 
 I got them grown stacks
 
 But this ain't 'bout no bread
 
 Not 'bout what niggaz said
 
 Not 'bout what hoes believe
 
 If you in here with me
  
 
 Keep your ears wide open
 
 This is all grill no jokin'
 
 Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 Better keep your ears open
 
 This is all grill no boastin'
 
 Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 The motherfuckin' aaaaair
  
 
 [eightball]
 
 Yeah i gotta go again
 
 Just to let you know the deal
 
 Eight ways to company
 
 Beats come from doin' real (yeah)
 
 We the niggaz should not nobody be fuckin wit'
 
 Slayer riders chopper city
 
 Had you bitches doubled quick
 
 This ain't 'bout who rap the best
 
 This ain't 'bout who got the most
 
 This is not no gangsta rap
 
 This ain't 'bout no pimps and hoes
 
 This here ain't no country shit
 
 Ain't no way to label this
 
 Memphis where i come from
 
 Orange mile veteran
 
 What i represent - whoever live in poverty
 
 Hard working niggaz that
 
 Try to hustle honestly
 
 And i represent who
 
 Lookin' good and feelin' nice
 
 Niggaz on there drinkin' 'dro
 
 Fresh clothes; full of ice
 
 (yeah) we gon' keep this slummin' comin' with the dirtiest
 
 (yeah) if you from the gutter then i know you heard of this
 
 This ain't bout where you from
 
 This ain't bout where you be
 
 This here 'bout feelin free
 
 If you in here with me
  
 
 Keep your ears wide open
 
 This is all grill no jokin'
 
 Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 Better keep your ears open
 
 This is all grill no boastin'
 
 Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
 
 If you feel me throw your hands up in the air
 
 The motherfuckin' aaaaair
  
 
 [eightball]
 
 Go 'head and put 'em up
 
 Put your hands where i can see 'em
 
 Put your hands where i can see 'em
 
 Go 'head and put 'em up
 
 Put your hands where i can see 'em
 
 Put your hands where i can see 'em
  
 
 Yeah, eight ways, doo-rilla
 
 Code line
 
 Slab two is goin' down baby
 
 This your boy milwaukee
 
 Stop prayin'