It's like I'm psychic and shit
I called this shit about five years ago
Dipset all day every day
Santana, Jim Jones
Freekey be home '07
Remember I'm a man of respect
Remember Santana was next
Now it's not techs, it's checks
And fans he collects
I want his wrist, fist, whole hand, jammed with baguettes
Pose for the camera man
Me and Santana man
Word to my grandma
He one bad mamma jamma, damn
So I don't write for the stardom
I get, booted, zooted, write down my problems
I've been through it headed right for the bottom
D.C. naw, would've been a sniper in Harlem (so what)
That's why I throw some dough
To my co-d from Kostovo
Help me get on overflow
No one suppose to know
But she lay me up like the prime minister
Thousand grams of dope smellin' like Hein Vinegar
That was a lot to linger
But to the top I bring her
But when it came to dope, I always copped in fingers
Money missin, oh shit I almost chopped some fingers
Slit some wrist, thats when they said oh shit he's not a singer
Fuck the rap, fuck the movies, fuck Siskel and Ebert
This pistol I'll squeeze it, missles if needed, Killa
Remember I'm gonna spend my cake
Remember Jim we getting out of 5H (projects)
Now chefs will fry us steaks
It's a higher [stake? / state?]
Swiss accounts I'm goin show you how to wire cake
And we from BBO
Now you a CEO
Direct a vee-ee-oh
Your own album here we go
Thats my man anytime I holla, holla with me
We shared chicken sandwiches they was a $1.50
Budget seven dollars, nickel bag and White Owl
I hope the chicken sandwich last us through the night child
We ain't care we didn't sleep we was night owls
Insomniatics our lifestyles compatible
Magical
Pops gone, shit tragical
Moms on mission
My house is where the addicts chill
I'm like a teacher, I need me a sabbatical
It's not irrational
I grew up radical
And you all are shook
I bought all my crooks
Fuck you R&B niggas Zeek sing all the hooks
Tito and Brick yes yes come again
They came sun or rain when I had that stomach pain