| My mama use to tell me, bout these |
| Broke roaching ass niggaz, in these streets |
| So many people, wanna see me fall |
| And then they wonder, why my attitude is fuck em all |
| You still running up, better peep my attitude |
| Cause I don’t give a fuck about, you or the next dude |
| Hitting the block top down, waving the boulevard |
| Run on side of my Range, and your feet get scarred |
| I ain’t never leave the house, without me packing a gun |
| And I ain’t never leave the block, without collecting my funds |
| A lot of niggaz wanna hate, but they ain’t fading us |
| So everytime I show my teeth, I shine like the sun |
| Breaking the game, and niggaz wanna hate my fame |
| And take my change, but never will they get my change |
| I’m quick to aim, and leave a red dot on your brain |
| You heard the bang, and niggaz gon respect the name |
| I’m telling you dog, my mama use to tell me y’all |
| Don’t be fake, fraud keeping me behind the wall |
| But never ever will I let a, motherfucker block me |
| I’ma run through that bitch, hit up and don’t fall |
| So it’s best to vacate, for your sake |
| The Maab up in this bitch, and I’ma regulate |
| Disrespect me and mine, I’ma retaliate |
| They don’t really wanna go to war, with a heavyweight |
| Dirty South veteran, Dirty Third glider |
| Underground, wrecking a nigga till they retire |
| For my T. Jones, I’ma set it on fire |
| Busting they neck and back, like they Khia |
| Dorothy Marie McVey, this your son |
| I’ve been on top of my cash, till the last of my funds |
| Even though I haven’t seen you, since I was six |
| I know you keep me with a weapon, when I’m out in the mix |
| You use to tell me, to never talk back and respect |
| Now that I’m grown, a nigga be cashing chin checks |
| I’m a guerilla, with a motherfucking attitude |
| And whether broke or pain, I’ma be in a bad mood |
| This is low life, motherfuckers can’t go nowhere to roll lights |
| Struggling to make it, cause this industry is so shife |
| Niggaz’ll take your name, and break your name |
| And try to give you ten percent, of the change |
| But, my mama use to tell me about these |
| Broke roaching, ass niggaz in these streets |
| So I’ma be busting, a .50 caliber |
| Retaliation with bitches, until they stacking up |
| I know, Z-Ro don’t wanna go to the county jail no mo' |
| But I know, you don’t wanna be doing that |
| It’s either that or the graveyard Ro, because I’m a killa |
| And so many people, wanna see a nigga fall |
| Want me at the table, if they don’t want me to eat it all |
| And then they wonder, why my attitude is fuck y’all |