Hopping over bye-bye fences nigga. I had this one bro, right? She was so damn strong. She used to hold my motherfucking Thought you thought nigga in a motherfucking VHS motherfucking canister one nigga Yeah Don't wanna go anywhere, but you get my mail. Oh no, I hope I don't come back this way. Don't wanna go anywhere, but you get my mail. Been a hustler since birth, momma selling dinners for the church, red-handed. Caught me stealing money out her purse, got branded permanent with scars on my back. Cause I used to get beat with racing car tracks, but now me got quills. Holding a conference call on my hands, streetcar telephone. Nigga like I'm talking to myself, shooting the breeze. Cutting it up real tough like chopping it up like true businessmen. Talking about by the way, B, what we do this week on South Street? If I ain't in Japan, I'm in the valley. Or maybe next door in Gary Payton bowling alley. Or maybe at the shooting range, me and Banksy are on the golf course. With Merton Hanks throwing liquor in the sun. Give me my properties, with a view to the side of this world. Licking down on doctors, sipping on the port. Watching my kids play basketball in the backyard on a 40 by 63 foot long sports quad. I hope I don't go back to slaying, slaying now, to get my mayo. I hope I don't go back to slaying, slaying now, to get my mayo. Guilt is bottom, in the wilderness. Coyotes and wild boars. DuPont registry, aluminum pool table, made strictly for outdoors. 20 inch chrome slipper bra was on my grill, feeling that everybody ain't able to be blessed with a successful ass independent record label. Check it out. Marvels. I got the gang from my uncle, St. Charles. Used to bank across the street at Wells Fargo, but now it's Merrill Lynch. And just think, I used to sit the bench. I remember getting kicked by the cops. Had to get my stomach gone, swallowed a quarter ounce of rocks. Waiting for me outside of Vallejo, Casa Permanente, emergency room, 2 o'clock. Ready to rot in that ding meter that somehow managed to make my escape through the back of the cafeteria by the vending machine department. Found myself running through the friendship apartment complex, over there by the railroad tracks, around the corner from the People's Continuation High School, somewhere off in the mountains, behind Janae's leg. I hope I don't go back to Slay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay. Check it out. No game, then gone. Now see the white-collar crime. I'm hooking up on Charlie Hustle. I got a few magnetics. I'm doing a compilation. Should I go with Funky Fat Gronk? I tell him, hell yeah, that's a done deal. Doing them off the hinges. Doing them dip. I cover in my bust bitches. Game warrior, vested worldwide. Sick witted shit. Independent shit. I say, I, I'm a tell you nigga, that's the thing about this whole thing that jump off. It's a fool cause a motherfucker take his bloody money right, and then he sit up there and he look and he say, hold on man, hold on man. A motherfucker, you know what I'm saying, you can either be at this shit or you can be gone with this shit. And you look at it and you say, man, hold on, let me translate this shit. Let me translate into some more. Let me liquidate my motherfucking revenue. You understand what I say, 40 water nails. You understand? I, I, but look, check this out. I'm here to sprinkle motherfuckers, lay state tennis shoes, teach them about the motherfucking game warrior, vested situations that goes down in their motherfucking, motherfucking soils with relations. I ain't bullshit nigga. I hope I don't go back to slaving. I ain't bullshit nigga. I've been born to get my pay out. I ain't bullshit nigga. There's too many jealous brothers in this guy. I can't stand to say, yeah, yeah. I'm gonna get my money, yeah, yeah. I hope I don't go back to slaving. I'm gonna get my money out. I'm gonna get my money out. I'm gonna get my money out. Hey, don't wanna go, don't wanna go, don't wanna go, don't wanna go back, back to the game.