| Who else to trust but us, streets come and ride with us |
| It’s still in the safe, I’m trying to pick the lock |
| If the music game is a dame, I’m trying to hit the G-spot |
| They say bigger mean better, I say good dick make it wetter |
| Why you spitting nothing address her, we wreck spitting for cheddar |
| If the Shop fall off, that’ll be the end of the South |
| It’s up to Reck connect the dots, where Lil' J left off |
| I done studied the best, I done passed the test |
| Now grandma masking my medal, 'fore I settle for less |
| I’m Texas raised nigga, with Texas ways nigga |
| In the Lone Star State, we stay paid nigga |
| Whether yay or whether hay, or the fly shit I say |
| You lil' dudes gon lose, or move the fuck out the way |
| It’s the rap game, (man these niggaz done turned this shit into the cap game) |
| Let’s treat these niggaz like bitches, and leave em slapped mayn |
| I don’t talk it I Iive it, I post up and I pimp it |
| I don’t boast, just get it |
| Fuck the mainstream, and your lame fee |
| Bitch I’m in these streets knee deep, digging in your main queen |
| And I know she cut for me, cause she be ironing my dickies |
| And when I fall asleep, she be trying to give me hickeys |
| Man she love my dirty drawas, even wash my socks man |
| And be a tad bit nervous, when I hit the block man |
| Cause I rock a foot long, and baby that is much harder |
| Ask me how I know, because she drinks my bath water |
| Got’s of order y’all a body bag, cause y’all niggaz through |
| Don’t ask me bout my flow, because my shit’s sick like the flu |
| I flew across the country, with that bitch from Argentina |
| Her name was Annie Mae, but then changed it to Tina |
| Like Ike, I do a dike too |
| SUV on dub three’s, Cadillac and bike too |
| Man a night dude, some to a playas when the freaks come out |
| We in the game in the gym, with the bleachers out |
| It’s time to step on these hoes, rep on hoes |
| Baby mama like, how them niggaz slept on those |
| Wreckshop pros, we done did it before |
| You main squeeze hit it before, as you should know |
| Bout me, Cocoa Shenelle with fresh odor sale |
| You got it fresh up out of jail, and he fetching his mail |
| Yeah I’m a dog, call me Rov' cause I’m in a Range |
| The 4 on side of me, cause 'fore the game it’s pain |
| And the same damn thang, make you laugh make you cry |
| Last in line, always the first to show out |
| As I pour out some liquor, for my dogs that got swallowed |
| We them same damn cats, that you other niggaz follow |
| 'Fore I wallow in my misery, I’m go and get some trees |
| Before you talk down, better go and check my history |
| Seriously we hot, the block done been took |
| Jewels clothes and cars, did that come on hook |
| It’s time to tighten up your belts, slap on your chest straps |
| Put your pads on the champs, home like the camp song |
| Pressing Wreckshop stamps on, like some need a tampons |
| Boys made a little noise, now ain’t nothing happen-on |
| These kids capping on, the foundation that we lay |
| Without showing the respect, for the moves that we made |
| Our dues been paid, paid in full |
| We sucka free over here, yeah the Shop got pull |
| And we’ve been outlaws, since we stepped in the do' |
| Boss hogging everything, from ceiling to flo' |
| The first major independent, sold a million of Moe |
| Before Moe even got a deal, how quickly y’all forget though |
| But that’s ok, we gon put it in your face |
| My pack back on track, in position to win the race |
| Call this a skeet taste, the fam got mo' in sto' |
| And since y’all on y’all way out, allow me to show you the do' |