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I paid my dues, facing life, I was stressing on Now I take a deuce, cut it twice, put a seven on it Mafia, what else? Backwoods full of dead opps, reminiscing back on when I bled blocks Still slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching Whale fishing, bottle full of syrup, I'm in Hell's Kitchen Press-shifting, spot you with the work, we be deadlifting Snubnose stick dance, Glock Nina clip hanging ConCreature brick mason, been known to keep the heads boppin' Hellblockin', big remote control, don't make me click the channel Spin a drill front us in the field like I'm Mickey Mantle Middle finger to the Yankees, this to the Black Sopranos Who broke the mold, lo and behold, this for Emmett Till Wrist dancing, Mr. Bold-and-Cold with the tricky dance moves Strigadil with the finger grips on the handle Bottle rocket hot, lit the wick on the roman candle Put the samples out, next day have all your heads missing Where squares go in seventeen like Uncle Grady's son Playing with that junkyard dog, cut with the Redd Foxx What else? Backwoods full of dead opps, we was hell-risen Max spoons in them lotto packs, got the heads nodding Slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching I know this shit come with gun smoke or a jail sent' Letras de cancionesTrap booming, a thousand stacks is a meal ticket Used to red-roof them brickies, now we hill-top 'em Still clocking, quick to chip a nigga like some red hot Still clutching, stuffing Backwoods full of dead opps This Russian cream'll crush his dream from a headshot Give my youngin a head nod to blow the submachine Three-hundred beans on my nuts, leaving from the rest stop Touch back with a twelve-popper, screaming, "Fuck you mean?" These honey bourbons just remind me how we spun his turban Hopping in my Champagne suburban, fleeing from the scene Hundred-twenty-thousand on my neck though I'm a humble king Footballs and Xans, he don't know his pants from his jean Thumbelina with the LaserQuest when we be jumping clean So clean, so fresh, had to make sure that the table set Kept my sandwich bags where my scale and my razor at Shaving cocaína, double cup of Funky Cold Medina Me and Tone Lōc, on the Warren where they raised us at Selling big fat monkey nuts, rocks big as Raisinets 'Member selling dope on that corner in front of the cleaners Gambling with my life, I bet back every time I place the bet (Turn him right back around, he's almost driving) (Damn) Where you goin', bro? Bro, where you goin', bro? Nobody's home Clap your face, Macaulay Culkin, Home Alone Bullet to your dome, put this pistol in your ass And now you sitting on chrome, dead right, we dead wrong Ask Martin what they taught me, he gon' tell you that I'm cold And when you talking to a gangster, little nigga, watch your tone In the kitchen water-whipping, had a pocket full of stone I've been trapping since Big Tymers made "Get Your Roll On" Ask about me on the block, we're slanging rock, I'm stone-cold Serving molly, lean, and pot, known to get them 'bows gone Used to bust it out the wrapper, sell it to a trapper I was hands-on with the dope, watch me double, dribble, travel Double-seal and vacuum, packin' up the package Broccoli lit his cabbage, vegan demon 'bout my salad One-fifty for the trish, two-fifty for the Wock' Need sixty for them thirties and four thousand for the 'za Fifteen-hundred on Amiris, six-hundred for my Glock We put switches on them glizzies and chops with bumper stocks All my bitches act sadiddy, they know I'm from the block I double-D her titties and push D on her spot If the police come to get me, you know I'll do the race And if this bitch get caught up with me, this bitch gon' take the case Real shit, bitch, I've been thuggin' this since I was eleven So I don't fuck with 12, so I don't give a fuck what you tell 'em But you better not tell And if they asked you From Letras Mania