Lyrics:
going on?
I been smoking on the gas, dog
What's going on?
Lied to by my homie bitch, dog
What's goin' on?
Fuck the world and let 'em die slow
I'm blowin'
Police got a list, I got picked again (picked again)
If you went got it and got out the projects
That's fire, my nigga, just make sure your niggas win
some crips
Stainless steel snug to my hip
Gotta give the streets my cred
Showed me how to water whip
Remember bumping three, six
Project pat a bunch
it out that mud shit
Niggas gay they drop the soap they on they sus shit
I'm like 2Pac with the Juice, I'm on my thug shit
Sippin' codeine in my
straight out the bottle
Everybody wanna know if I'm insane
My baby mama gotta mind full of silly games
And all the drama got me stressin' like I'm
Posters on my wall of Project Pat
Others from Memphis too it was all a dream
White boys where I'm from mostly cynical
Hold onto my focus with a broken dream
Nowhere to go from here, but the top of this sphere
Nothin' stoppin' us here, we lockin' this here
With the black toaster by my hip bone, fuck a holster
Jump on the elevator, hit the lights out
My moms was a yardie so my pops kept a stout
Ooh a young boy tipsy, that's without a doubt
It wasn't hard
hatin'
I'ma be every fuckin' piece of skrilla
Cheese out here I can make
I'ma break every fuckin' bitch
Fatalities that I can bring
I'ma millie my pillie
came from
Born in a world going where they told me I can't go
In my lane, though, I'm in the same boat as Usain Bolt
Get ahead by any means so
Yo cuz, ringsend and Compton on a track what
The fuck’s up with that?
Where I come from bricks get danced on
Then sold by the fellas with the amps
Mista Don't Play though
Raised in the projects so I pat them pockets
My rhymes be like nines when they shoot off like rockets
Straight to the cranium
You hoes fade in the background
You better check my background
Like project pat lay smack down
You weak ass hoe's don't come round
Don't make false move
The midnight murder two cop bodies on my heat
Walk the street with a motherfuckin straight face
Little shorty flip the script huh
hella weed
When im having a bad day
I need my passport
Bout time that
I travel out the USA
Sex kills stress
She gimme some pussy
I leave her some back
stepper I’m applying heavy pressure/
You a fuck nigga so I gotta charge you extra/
Fire sell itself don’t need no tester/
Yo designer knock off can tell by
to put you to rest
I'm crazy, psycho and outie
Niggas can't fuck with me the set is fuckin cloudy
Lay your ass face down on your stomach
You know you
tell by the odor
Your bitch is a stretch
Got her posing like yoga
I’m feelin real classy
Bitch pass me my toga
I keep it 300
I’m feelin like Sosa
Them
trippin', I done bought too much, I'm tippin', pass it out like Trump (beep)
Niggas throwin' salt on me like he just wanna fuck (i know)
She look back
or a dobb
Pistol on my waist to keep
Drama from gettin' hard
When I ride one of these
Six whips out the yard
It ain't no tellin' how many
Niggas I writes off
breath, by the time I flip to the next flow
This sho' is real, this is the deal, guns I'm runnin
Gotta make it out of town to flip my {shit} and keep it
the grass, now I see the grams out
Like I'm Project Pat, I ain't giving handouts
I'm loving her
She be running for a sandwich
Bitch hit the curb i'm hustling
the judge fuck the court and every bitch that lied
a little time ticked by, my ho and I got rocked
my lady waking me up yelling Treach, Pac got shot
to live
Take care of my kids, fuck all that stress
Never wore a vest, only holding tecs
[Chorus]
[Evidence]
We sold out every store in L.A.
It's
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