Lyrics:
Cent, how it feel to rob an industry nigga?
I'll catch P and Silkk the Shocker right after the Grammys
And Will Smith and Jada ass down in Miami
Run
You're the son of that Indian scum
If you value your hide then you better abide
By the white man's rules here in Cherokee Bend.
Daddy didn't like
I'm loco bro, but ain't no Mexican
I got nines in the bedroom, Glocks in the kitchen
A shotty by the shower if you wanna shoot me while I'm shittin'
the bedroom
40 cal all on my waist it don't give me no leg room
Shawty do tricks for them team
But she cannot get next to em
Niggas be talking that talk
Until
Hip-hop's number one son still shines
'Cause I'm (so fresh)
Big Will is (so fresh)
Jazzy Jeff is (so fresh)
West Philly is (so fresh), ha ha, ha ha
blinded by all of this
Fights in my head but we just said I was far from this
But the fruit don't fall that far from the tree
I'm the son and the brother
wanna go but I don't go on dates
New rolie watch had to bust down the face
Cuz don't abide by the rules fuck the law
She make it bounce like a spring in
the drop son
3rd the king of cloverland, Slim thug is the boss son
Paul Wall made me the hardest grill I done bought for
For a 100 K ,a 100 carat Paul
(run it)
Sunshine on me
Every time I leave the crib I got it on me (brrt)
Got it out the mud, I did it by my lonely (yeah)
Pop my shit, done bein'
many rhymes you got
I will go for more milleniums than mazda's got on the car lot
And there's no where to run ta when I confront ya
Nigga I call
first SMACK event
You ain't run into me by
Accident before my crash pussy
Swear To God you ain't see me at a concert
Backstage and ask can you have my
the minute you came by
So stay in your lane and get wet by the rain!
You wanna step up, get your ass touched!
You wanna rap son, get your ass buff!
Try
And get these papers run some capers while they catch the vapors
Yeah son, don't got no time for no chicken trickin
Its the lyrical addiction
'Cause me
stress
Disrespect get you checked
Catch this Forty-Cal to your neck
My niggas smoke like chimney
Roll by the gram, we litty
Taking shots out of her titty
with him
Stay shifting hit different young Cal Ripken
Plate discipline head in the game pray deliverance
Wild living while living by Lake Michigan
Yea
rather Hustle our way Up
How U gone Rob the Goon
This ain't no time to play
We dont do minimum wage
We rather Hustle our way Up
I move that Work by the Day
But hell no, I ain't impressed
(I ain't impressed by that shit)
I just like the baguettes
(I just like it) , I just like to ride Lex
I just like
the Kush bottled up (up)
.40 Cal, pal, you can get hollowed up (doot-doot)
If you ain't talkin' 'bout money, homie then that's cheap chatter (ha)
I'm
gon' grab it (geah)
And dip to the Cal
And if you love rapping the West scream loud (West Side!)
Unload the barrels and start to chuckle
Take it from
how I walk it
Walk down leave a footprint they get stepped on
Bring me in no confession
Blew right by and I left em
Legend Will Smith no Wesson
Wake up
breeze
Yea
They see son all the time
Yea
Hot thang on my line
Spring when she wanna fall
Yea
Shine like summer time
Yea
When they check my watch it ain’t
to wicked ways
Gotta love me, g-o-d no one above me
Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw
From my punch, watch your son and you
Got you shittin in your last
That go to show this ass
Kicking ain't gon bother nigga
Cause it's right back where
You started nigga
Being a son of a Harlem nigga
Now you was made by
Percocet and Adderall, man, I could walk on water
I got a son, his name Jaylen and he want all your daughters
I'm a landmine, got this by a landslide, I'm
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