| Uh huh, Killa, They never said we couldn’t get down |
| It’s like I’m psychic and shit |
| I called this shit about 5 years ago |
| Dipset all day everyday man |
| Santana, Jim Jones, Freeky be home 07, (uh), let’s go |
| Remember, I’m a man of respect, remember, |
| Remember, Santana was next, |
| Now it’s not teks, it’s checks, and vans 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 MamaJamma, damn, |
| So I don’t write for the stardom, |
| I get, booted, zooted, write down my problems |
| I been through it headed right for the bottle, |
| DC, nah, would’a been a sniper in Harlem, |
| That’s why I throw some dough, to my cody from Kostovo, |
| Help me get on Overflow, no one supposed to know, |
| But she lay me up, like the Priminister, |
| Thousand grams of dope, smellin' like Hine vinegar, |
| That was a lot to linger, but to the top I bring her, |
| When it came to dope, I always copped in fingers, |
| Money missin', oh shit, I almost chopped some fingers, |
| Slit some wrists, that’s when they said 'Oh shit, he’s not a singer', |
| f**k the rap, f**k the movies, f**k Siskel and Ebert, |
| This pistol, I squeeze it, Missles if needed, KILLA, |
| Remember, I’ma spend my cake, |
| Remember, Jim, we gettin' outta 5H, |
| Now, chefs a' fry us steaks, It’s a higher stake |
| Swiss accounts, I’ma show you how to wire cake, |
| And we from BBO, now you a CEO, |
| Direct the VEO, your own album, here we go, |
| That’s my man, anytime I holla, holla wit' me, |
| We shared chicken sandwiches, they was a dollar fifty, |
| Budget 7 dollars, nickel bag and white owl, |
| I hope the chicken sandwich last us through the night child, |
| We ain’t care, we ain’t sleep, we was night owls, |
| Insomniatics, our lifestyles compatible, |
| Magical, pop’s gone, shit’s tragical, |
| Mum’s omission, my house is where the addicts chill, |
| I’m like the teacher, I need me a sabbatical, |
| It’s not irrational, I grew up radical, |
| And you all are shook, |
| I bought all my crooks, |
| f**k you R’n’B niggas, |
| Zeek sing all the hooks, |
| Tito and Bray, |
| Yes yes, come again, |
| They came sun or rain, |
| When I had that stomach pain, |
| Uh |