| Hah, yeah |
| This that don dada flow |
| (This that don dada music) |
| Oh Lord, ayy |
| No cappuccino, double cup, I sip red |
| I’m feelin' just like Al Pacino, that boy play, then he dead |
| «What's crackin', cuz?» my favorite lingo, wrap my flag 'round my head |
| Walk 'round the corner, caught him, bingo, Timmy take off his dreads |
| Shots fired, bah, bah, man down, it’s up in the sky |
| The police know it’s homicides every time that we ride |
| Them boys wish they ain’t started beef 'cause every night, we gon' slide |
| Steady watchin' the preacher preach, I got them gates in my eyes |
| GPS me to they block and pop my head up like mayday |
| From day to night, they go and search for opps, they know that’s they payday |
| No name, buried his Glock, then went and copped him an AK |
| Sixth grade, I had that drop, I never went to the eighth grade |
| Murder, I’m screaming out homicide |
| I run with watch and some top shottas who will come take your life |
| We live the life of Curtis Jackson, get rich or die tryin' |
| One shot, man down, smile in your face 'fore you die |
| My label told me I make music, make them boys go and kill |
| Gotta take a trip to LAX to get some drank for Kill Bill |
| I caught a rush from bustin' Glocks when I was out in the field |
| Them hitters come and sweep your block, better get a house in the hills |
| Them plastic cups, I’m sippin' New Orleans |
| Got a big black Glock with a big red beam |
| Whole hundred racks stuffed in my jeans |
| I fuck off Percs, I kill off beans |
| Swing on they street, kill they whole team |
| I stopped they deal, I killed they dreams |
| Fuck they whole crew, that’s what I mean |
| On grandma grave, I poured out lean |
| No cappuccino, double cup, I sip red |
| I’m feelin' just like Al Pacino, that boy play, then he dead |
| «What's crackin', cuz?» my favorite lingo, wrap my flag 'round my head |
| Walk 'round the corner, caught him, bingo, Timmy take off his dreads |
| Shots fired, bah, bah, man down, it’s up in the sky |
| The police know it’s homicides every time that we ride |
| Them boys wish they ain’t started beef 'cause every night, we gon' slide |
| Steady watchin' the preacher preach, I got them gates in my eyes |