[Verse 1] Niggas pistol popping like it's 1999 I was 9 maybe 10, then again never mind Press rewind, back in time before rappers dropping dimes Trap or die, choppin' pies with cliche's all in they rhymes Now it's Gucci, Prada and anything designer Money, power, the whole enchilada Commas, dollas, the greens and the guava They serve you to your flocka if you disrespect that blocka, blocka Choppas on eaves droppers, fuck these choppas I’m about it Grindin' like 2Pac with Biggie Poppa, yeah you outer but I’m hotter (Right!) Car jacking, pistol packing, mothafuckin' choppers clapping Metal jacket automatic magazines head on traffic Window smashing, windows crashing, pants sagging, fuck your fashion Yeah a nigga run Manhattan, back in Cali's where it happen It's Gucci, Escada, and anything designer Groupies, poppers they all gonna swallow It was probably the robbers, the goons and the goblins They hating a lot, medulla oblongata
[Verse 2] Maserati like Atari with no car keys push to start it New Bugatti, 2 Bugatti's, Tesla Roadster, new Ferrari Lamborghini, system bumping, me no warried, Rastafari This the hardest supersonic, systematic, too retarded New Versace, new apartment, bigger closet, newer carpet Hit departments, cool it all, must set my goal if you accomplish Shoot a target cause you the target, moving targets, new accomplish Kill the game but still regardless, beat the charges, do the honors