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La Musica De Harry Fraud Holy Christ of Jesus, Latter-day Saints, I caught a half a brickie Climbing up the ladder of success, I brought my ladder with me Double cup of purple-saurus-rex, and that lamb chop Modern-day version of my grand pops with a flask of whiskey Sprinkling the hot sheets on backs of white runts and black truffle Eight Super Bowl rings on my hands, look like some brass knuckles Dirty pop them on your third eye Fuck with my first lady, stir the pot Stir and stir-fry, you know I'm stir-crazy First 80K, they tried to persuade me not to murk Davey Got him out the way around the time I dropped my first Mercedes Kitchen cabinet full of 8-ounce bottles like a Gerber baby Sitting on a chirp of dog shit, look like a bird with rabies Checking in on that red-eye flight, might have to check a bag Checking out my room, trunk full of dope, follow that checkered cab Nike checks on my off-whites, courtesy of Virgil We ran the place so many times that by now we don't need no rehearsal Are we there yet? Still trapping in the jungle, still having motion Having real wrecks, rich and humble Cell tap, no rebuttal Fell back, from the huddle Blow fell on the dorms Letras de cancionesFeel like a jail cap when it crumble, yeah Now run and tell that to the bumbles Trumble pack on the machete Four quarters in the O It's 64 in the bowl 36 a quarter crow Brick a blow on 44 12 packs in the bundle It ain't no secret, I was really eating Patched and slinging keys Good dope that's best served raw like Japanese cuisine From my city to Detroit, where we like Magic and Kareem Body bags in that Pontiac, I took the 90 back with ease, yeah Three shooters, one driver, we spending car pools Game man, get it from law school Got it moving, blue ribbon, dog food I bought the coupe, then I snatched the truck They see me and add me up I'ma have a hundred plus on when you dab me up Yeah, and that's what's up But watch what I do this summer That new paddy bus gon' cost like two caddy trucks I love to talk about it 'cause them bricks was a real thing Cut the tape and them flakes shining Tiffany 'til green It's a victory lap for hustlers who literally had to suffer I'm on rich-nigga shit, now I sit in the back for comfort I'm at the fence betting money, I told them that I want the under I hit a good lick, then married a hood chick just like I'm Shumpert When they shit drop, their shit go from the studio to the dumpster I'm in my interviews telling war stories on No Jumper, nigga Still trapping in the jungle, still having motion Having real wrecks, rich and humble Cell tap, no rebuttal Fell back, from the huddle Blow fell on the dorms Feel like a jail cap when it crumble, yeah Now run and tell that to the bumbles Trumble pack on the machete Four quarters in the O It's 64 in the bowl 36 a quarter crow Brick a blow on 44 12 packs in the bundle Count up Yeah Bo Jack My nigga bounce back like it's nothing We made of titanium nigga, fuck you thought From Letras Mania