If I gotta ride, then youse gonna die
I hope niggas ain’t really tryna break my bones, ’cause if you are
Make sure you know what nickname you want for that tombstone
Play hard as a rock, bullets can break stones
Beak Bad Boys down like Jimmy did Sean Combs
I’m hot as an oven, you just a pressing comb
Not impressed, homes, you should’ve stayed home
And pray that rooftop block you from getting shitted on
I gives a fuck if A&R’s don’t pick up the phone
I swear it’s no one like me, but if it is
Then I’ve got a long-lost twin, sort of made me a goon
I don’t care about friends, I was made to be on my own
I came in this world by myself, and I’m leaving alone
Hopefully with a crib that I can call my own
With a backyard the size of the fucking Georgia Dome, pop
You pop shit and I might pop your dome
Give your homies a reason to make a memory stone
Niggas weird, they love when the beef is on
Knowing that plummet time the only time he’ll roam
You’d better hold your breath, I’ll give you a walkthrough death
And recommend the gun being your chaperone
I know young niggas that look up to Al Capone
And they look 17, but I swear that they mind is grown
I’m so grown, and the reason I write this way
‘Pac and Big ghostwriting my songs
You can play the boss, but if you get shot from being on top
Then homie, that’s your loss
Shit, I’m nice with it
I’ll pop your man then leave some money on him
So he can pay for his funeral costs (get it?)
These niggas tryna get money like Fort Knox
Either from the rap shit or back down to the cut rock
And you can play a baller
But deep inside you know you’re just an actor
Yeah, something like Rick Ware
You ain’t a thug, homie, you just a fox
And I’m Mr. Werewolf somewhere in the Boondocks
And I’m really from the street, so if I ask for beef, homie
Don’t bring no pork chops
I’ll turn your skin to pork, homie, with one chop
With a rusty switchblade that’s dirty like bums’ socks
They say the flow is crack, so wherever I rap
Best believe you can call it a dope spot, bitch
I swear I’m gon’ ride… and he’s gotta die
Bitch, it’s that Compton shit, niggas
Okay… okay…
Money by any means, nigga…
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
