Spittin' act, G Talk for niggas who gang bang
Niggas who drug slang, lettin' they nuts hang
Who the fuck you think you fuckin' with? Fuck around, you gettin' fuckin' hit
Who the fuck you think you fuckin' with? Fuck around, you gettin' fuckin' hit
Yo, I don't got a sports car cause I don't speak I'm Gucci in the hood, got whatever you need
I'm more the type to sit in the back Tell my driver where to go as I'm countin' the stack
Sayin' prayers on the stairs, hope we makin' it back Defacated, dedicated, what I'm sayin' is fact
I speak from the perspective of a live one If you need a new plan, I could provide one
Get bread from York College blocks to Yorkville
Your niggas eatin' pork still, nigga we off swill
Three pounds of gold in the cold, I'm warm If you ask about me, then you'll be told I'm on
It's like I can't miss a jump shot, coordinate
Critical cake, we at the jump spot
Sunblock give it to the haters, we the natives Cartier, chiseled in bricks, we doin' favors
You ain't never been bout that, ever Spin out back, circle blocks five times
Deeply involved details, I speak live rhymes
Later than Jamaica's spot, usually repeat couple thousand in my pocket, we emerge from the sea
Oceanic panic, granite first ceramic
Bitch, niggas can't stand it when they see us swerve
Steamed cabbage off the hood while we parked on the curb, beloved
Beloved
