| One dope rapper, tell me how do you feel? |
| Like an old-school Cadillac coupe de ville |
| I’m high off life, I don’t need no pill |
| I could never be fake 'cause I’m too damn real |
| La di da di, I blast the shotty |
| Commit a homicide is when you kill somebody |
| Don’t be another rapper popped on the mic |
| 'Cause if they let you out for snitchin' you might die tonight |
| For all of y’all bustin' rhymes in Hell |
| Tryin' to sell your soul, hope your records a sell |
| I smoked all the evidence the cops might smell |
| I can’t hang with you 'cause you might tell |
| No friends in the game I’m in |
| Look up in the sky, you wanna know what lane I’m in |
| I was swervin' through the clouds in a plane again |
| I sold the meth to your man, he brought the pain again |
| The whole world’s on acid, I’m their number one dealer |
| Michael Jackson brought 'em back from the dead like Thriller |
| Do a spin, grab my nuts, and then D-boy pose |
| Wack rappers on the mic, yeah, I eat those |
| Beefy meat though, I never met a harder mama |
| I’m old-fashioned, I like my women born with a vagina |
| Sit back in a recliner while I’m doin' the most |
| With my chest nusts roastin' on your Twitter page post |
| Roast a piggy, still bump Pac and Biggie |
| Toast to the homies that’s still rockin' with me |
| East, west, south, north blow up |
| I say, «What up, doe,» 'cause ain’t nothin' but dough up |
| East, west, south, north blow up |
| I say, «What up, doe,» 'cause ain’t nothin' but dough up |
| East, west, south, north blow up |
| I say, «What up, doe,» 'cause ain’t nothin' but dough up |
| One dope rapper never stuck in a trap |
| That’s for rats, this cat too cool for that |
| It’s all about the paper and makin' a profit |
| The public goin' crazy, they want me to stop it |
| It’s money in my pocket, as soon as I drop it |
| You want a hit, give me a pen and a pad, I gotta top it |
| Another dead rapper bringin' the fiber optics |
| You so Microsoft 'cause you can’t microscopic |
| Stop it if you think you droppin' dope rhymes, in fact |
| You the very definition of what we call wack |
| Originality is what you lack |
| Whoever put you in the front, we gon' put you right back |
| Snitch-ass rappers we gots to tax |
| Chop off your head, break out the axe |
| We already know who set the traps |
| But if we them cool cats, then who’s the rats? |
| If you in a trap, man, watch for rat man |
| I’m runnin' from these snitches like the ghosts from Pac-Man |
| I know what’s happenin' and I’m 'bout that action |
| I’ll murk you 'fore you tell on me, won’t get the satisfaction |
| So peep the caption, this is what these rats will do |
| Yeah, he got caught, so he gon' tell on you |
| The police had no evidence, they didn’t have a clue |
| Until you signed them affidavits, ratted out your crew |
| So you swore to tell the whole truth and nothin' but the truth |
| In the first forty-eight hours, everybody knew |
| East, west, south, north blow up |
| I say, «What up, doe,» 'cause ain’t nothin' but dough up |
| East, west, south, north blow up |
| I say, «What up, doe,» 'cause ain’t nothin' but dough up |