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, chopping pies, with clichйs all in they rhymes Now it's Gucci, Prada and anything designer Money, power, the whole enchilada Commas, dollars, the greens and the guava They serve you to your flocka If you disrespect that blocka, blocka Choppers on eavesdroppers Fuck these choppers I'm about it Grinding like 2Pac with Biggie Poppa Yeah, you outer but I'm hotter, right Carjacking, pistol packing, motherfucking 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
Maserati like Atari with no car keys, push to start it New Buggatti, two Bugattis Tesla Roadster, new Ferrari Lamborghini, system bumping Me no worried, 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, you the target Moving targets, new accomplish Kill the game but still regardless Beat the charges, do the honors