I need it from the top, this is history baby, Commissioner Steve Stout, Lenny, Godson, D-Block, Bravehearts, what up? Yo, ain't nothing but trouble, God, when I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts and the double R, don't make me let the machine off, this is methadone music that you can lean off, made you look, the remix with me up on it, I cop your shit, now I break weed up on it, and everything is real, I see, like my niggas that been home, but they only got a jail ID, I help the game, it ain't help me, I'm top 5, dead or alive, and that's just off one LP, and I still buzz, they feel cuz, cause they know the flow's ill, just like Will was, I'm just trying to make sure that my son's wealthy, out of shape, but I make sure that my gun's healthy, I'm an ape, you can't stand KISS, coming through the hood in the Aston Vanquish, the color of dandruff, they said we jumped him, I just let the gun snuff him, cop he the turbo as soon as they uncuff him, this goes out to all of your mans, why put you in a verse when I can put you in a car and a van, D-Block They shooting, ah I made you look, you a slave to a page in my rhyme book, getting big money, Playboy your times up, With them Gangsters at With them Dimes At From the School of Hard Knocks, Sneak Peeks, and Low Blows, Where X's Mark Spots, and Kitchens Mark O's, Where Love's Gon' Get Ya, and Haters Gon' Snitch Ya, And Finger Squeeze Triggers Like Boa Constrictors, It's The Mr. Looter, Jada and Nas, And Our Bullets Give You A Deep Tissue Massage, So Hear The Song and Dance While I Make These Ends, You Never Stood Half A Chance Like Siamese Twins, They shooting, look in the barrel, then he made the front page of the Miami Herald or Chi Tribune, Nozzles with Solid Doom, We in that A-Town Journal as Violent Goons, You should print my information, quote my rhyme, and keep me in between these New York and L.A. Times, I'm just a victim of society as Chris the Menace, With most shit out on the streets then evicted tenants, They shooting, I made you look, you a slave to a page in my rhyme book, Getting big money, playboy your time's up, Where them gangsters at? Where them dimes at? Jungle, Wiz, Nashawn, We got them scared, look, we got them scared, they running, Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blinky, the biscuit, the burner, The heat, the toaster, the twister, you meeting your owner, The banger, the hammer, the flamers, I aim at the cannons, I can you, Manhandling you, you'll be famous, I cancel you, And cut, that's the end of your movie, Pretending you acting like you and your men should come shoot me, My tennis shoes Gucci, Old School, Peace, Supreme, Jean Lee Suit, On Fever, Clicquot, Champagne, and I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I'm on fire, I I caught a new pain, Friday the 13th, my CD dropped, I rhymed with more bass than Eze Rock, I'm jason, call a PD, Watch them bravehearts juggling, Wiz and Nashawn, Ill will roster, late, Never veiling his face on TV and picture icing, We be them niggas, Sorry that I made you wait long, Glad I'm fixed on weed shooting, Squeezing them triggers with Luder beside me, Me and Kisket, Loonies and weeds, Set the style speed, Tell him, hold his head, god son, God oh we made y'all look, From San Quentin to R mudger Zalid to Green