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Where we at with it, ay? It's the Jack Lord, I'ma smack the glass off the backboard At the office with it, quick the chalk and then turn the niggas slap to a blackboard Everything meant like a out tour, on the hill block me and Fatboy 10, 20 pints of the Atkin, in the trap me and Dan Aykroyd Street life what I been living, gangland get them bricks missing Boss hog got a pig pen, run with hitmen so it hit different Hundred million on the come up Niggas know I pull this gun up Nigga no guts, no glory, stretch 220 in to 440 In jail they ask me if I'm no court, nah I ain't in the trade war story My clothes tight when I got picked up, spent the whole night hoodie zipped up Back on the dike with my stick tucked, rolling white like a lint brush Mama pray for me 'cause I been tucked, know they waiting on me to slip up Nigga can't afford another hiccup, moral of the story keep your lips shut Nice foreign exchange with the gang, bouncing out with my wrist Nigga still dropping dirty except this time it's not a piss cup I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel Letras de cancionesIn the heart of the mantra Double-parked in that Maybach Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the laser Bitch, quit calling me "crazy" Streets ran a fax check, OG gave me y'all access That's the half brick shit, we a mixed nigga down, add him to the track list I'm a wordsmith, fact of the words is, thank you for your proof of purchase Yeah that pussy good for a minute but the money only thing a nigga want Me and my niggas we the real deal, we want all the pills still Benz trunk full of green pints on the east side, me and Trio Beal I'm a workhorse, no horseplay, playing with the work is my forte White horse walking on water, they say Jesus rose on the fourth day Now it's all praise due, all white ice in my hazel Black 'lenciaga space boot, stumping foreign pedals when we race coupe Cheated death with a ace dupe, most niggas in the ghetto can't shoot Aided my Canadian draft, turned a cream soda to a grape juice Fuck trying to send a B-pack, give me 32 for the whole thing 30 blues for the jean jacket, Virgil Lewis with the rope strings Courtesy of the neighborhood club, Landley and bricks on me They call me "crazy" so much, my mind playing tricks on me I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel In the heart of the mantra Double-parked in that Maybach Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the legs Bitch quit calling me crazy Bitch quit calling me crazy Bitch quit calling me crazy Bitch quit calling me crazy Bitch quit calling me crazy From Letras Mania