Lyrics:
The true King is here and he's ready to reign
No bullet can stop him, no knife can slice
Protected by JaH as the heathen set price
Dem send 50 pagan he send
I learned the hard way
Gotta do it by myself
Designer on me
Rollie on my wrist, ice in my veins
Drip is the cousin of fresh
Ride wit my niggas 'til
to the nitty
gritty. And ride till the rims fall off this kind of shiz they knokin
wall to wall. Rollin up by henisee and killer weed they killing me my
the dying got everybody flowers
I got em by the b-a-ll-s you know what they fuck imma do
Bahama by the breeze a big steppa nigga stella got her groove
I'm
they spin, you freeze in ya souped up paint clean
Fifties, amps, six by nines and thangs
Comin down the block, let my sub straight bang
Like, "Fuck
are hollow
Can't help 'em they'll put me down if I let 'em
I'm givin' fifty feet to the average friend or foe
And I'll kill you fo' you kill me if
bombs
all the while disguised as a soccer mom
our little league coach was James Earl Ray
our team pictures were takin by the CIA
she could wack out
feelings all stowed away
Capitalized judgment, but we keep it on the lower case
Mergin' from the fast lane, nowadays keep a slower pace
Haunted by the past,
fifty ear to ear smash and fear
I'm scrubbin' down, this hip hop shit's infested
Too many niggas sexin' the mic, they not protected
Don't get infected,
learned it by watching you, don't ever forget it bitch
Cause everybody knows how the government do
They never snitch on themselves, but they want you
the blue line oh
He'd never let you down
You could tell by the look in his coal black eyes
That boy was glory bound
He could bring the home town to its
BlackDave and they know I'm that nigga
I was just in the jungle with them lions and motherfucken gorillas
Let me show you how Im living
Gas by the ounce lil
sky Montana, to Atlanta out on boulevard
The hurricane just missed us
We in Baton Rouge now with kids takin' pictures
Last night we did Cheyenne
It
some pictures at the show
I heard in the papers that I was one of the best
Got a professional team, and my gear stay fresh
Now we can get violent, or we
Yeah, where that bag at
I need 50 for a show, where that cash at
She from Sacramento, threw her on that Amtrak
Even though I'm getting paper like
Fuck these rappers and personas
Every City going know us
TBG We going to blow up
Spitting Bars till I throw
From the city with no trust
They slice
Beat snitches for they mouth spit
On a real note boy you ain't shit
Pussy went and lied, put my cash aside
Now to put it mild (hold up) you're
a gun
Go to school, I'll get you some funds
Too many youngins, they dying real young
I was broke, now I'm telling my story
Who ever picture the fame
these racks
Dont play with me AR's got 50 rounds attached
Posting shots on da gram like I ain't gonna send them real ones back
That lil black nigga from
about the jokes I was wondering where the cash at
Im giving you a vivid picture of my memorable flashbacks
No cell phone towers No internet no cash app
I'm the coolest to do it who is the dude with the music
That got em' moving they booty like it's a zoo in they booty
I keep a cutie secluded she look
pep in a casket froze
(Yeah)
Hunnits and fifties
Females want me sign they titties
For the fame I am ready
All my family members black
So they
I might take ‘em by towns
Taking my people
I’m taking them out
But I brought them up
And they brought down
But we going up
And we going back down
Like
find the reaper
I knew his bitch ass was gone run by the way he tied his sneakers
The way bro walked down on a opp I could tell he was dying to beat em
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