Lyrics:
the lock off the gate; I got the drop on em
I'm going 2pac on them, I'm too hot for them
We boogie down in the Floss, no this is not Fordham
The drip look
it from my dad bro
Rappers seem to think it's cool to come off as an asshole not me
I be wherever the pot be top
Speed to the fucking top where 2pac
it from my dad bro
Rappers seem to think it's cool to come off as an asshole not me
I be wherever the pot be top
Speed to the fucking top where 2pac
shit that got Big and 2Pac killed (it's Gucci)
Haha
Okay
For the record, this is not a diss record
It's just the truth
It's Gucci, the livin'
shit that got Big and 2Pac killed (it's Gucci)
Haha
Okay
For the record, this is not a diss record
It's just the truth
It's Gucci, the livin'
the crack spot with a laptop
Bumpin' that Biggie Smalls and 2Pac
French braid and weed heads
Where'd all these niggas come from with these dreads?
You ain't gotta ask if she digg me, of course she did I'm witty
I'm a product of my city, that 2Pac and that Biggie
My jewels pop with that pretty
listen to 2pac sample on hit em up ma hommie
If you dey find love make money
Don't wanna get snubbed make money
If you are getting unnecessary attitude you
corner riding with him ha Ha
All they see is black venom
Then my silhouette
Just watch the fear reappear in they
Eyes when I hit the set
Oh no, 2Pac wit'
How can Lynch be wrong?
How can 2Pac be wrong? Bitch!
Come gangsta
Throw your rags in the air
And know that nobody there
Will compare to your
behind i know your kind
The type to try to pull
2Pac down in his prime
We all human coming in
Different shapes and size
They tear you down when you
Tell
Chase, chasing new black wheels
Why would I do that still? That's what got 2Pac killed
But I use that still 'cause I won't do that deal
Screw the muzzle
(Gorilla warfare) Shootouts, real block shit
West coast assassin on some real 2Pac shit
My style's smokin' like, after a glock spit
Game get the blood
2Pac told us to never give up
Where I'm from
Be ready to shoot or be ready to duck
This shit tough, you ain't ready enough
(yeah, you ain't ready enough)
a bond and shackles and that nigga fainted
2Pac trigger man, somewhere on his knees praying
Now it's time fo' certain things to come to life
David
warfare) Shootouts, real block shit
West coast assassin on some real 2Pac shit
My style's smokin like, after a glock spit
Game get the blood money, fuck
why, I'm a hustler, 'til my ass die
Even when they do come up
I'll be ready when they run up, huh
I'll be a nut to put my gun up, huh
It's 2Pac and Tha
my vision
Right on time with mine thanks to them old Doc prescriptions
West side flourishin' again, this what 2Pac envisioned
Obama freein' lifers
Hit 'em with my 2Pac See my patna, got the midi, got two spots
Baby, take 'em jeans off, leave 'em heels on
Yeah, I'm fuckin' you tonight, that my
(Yeah)
Niggas wanna hit me like I'm 2Pac (Yeah)
Bad bitch fuck me in my Gucci tube socks (Yeah)
'Member when I spent my re-up on a oowop, whoa
Your
m's
Know some shooters but they out here touching rims
Feel like 2pac I'm balling above the rim
You a rookie go play in another gym
Need a diamond I
nigga ever
Besides malcolm and martin
cnd 2pac and Biggie
My uncles and aunties
Countless others
I'm really their reflection
So I look at cops
Money speaks to a nigga like me so I need 2 M’s like mhm
Idols turn rivals like 2Pac and Guru
She blow me go viral the head game was mm mmm
I’m back now
On yo' block you prolly bred a Fat Pat or 2Pac
Or Big Pun, or B.I., ya homeboys from knee, high
And even when it was storming outside, that nigga'd be by
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