Eight track stereo, colored TV in every room
And you can snort a half a piece of dope every day
It′s the American Dream, nigga, well ain't it?
God knows it′s a rotten game. The only one the man left us to play
That's the stone cold truth
Yea
Twist something
Bumping Mozzy in the Maserati
Allegedly they say my little Relly caught a body
My city going stupid mainly
Lil niggas in the pen going super crazy
Runners over the stove, giving slight twirls with hoes
That powder they nose with that white girl
Four door Porsches and polo horses
Golf courses, teriyaki swordfish, exotic fortress
Gangsta gun game, my [?] aim damage a frame
Like the paper at the gun range, I'm sun blazing
Cross the line, I might down ya
That′s why I feel at home around the chain lifters, and body counters
Heavy handed henchmen, victorious vigilant
Still killing shit, it′s pretty boy militance
These rappers is a fuckin joke
Broke niggas tryna beef always getting smoked
Feet deep in the casket
Colombian fashion
Wasn't for this, then I′d still be jooking
I'm still jooking, it′s just nothing is getting tooken
Words is like coke, I'm used to cooking
Like aftershocks niggas is used to booking
Saw so much that I cannot be shooken
My goons follow ′cause I know the way
Trained to go fast with no delay
Keep a shooter with a throwaway
When it's war we never go away
SKs blow your face when big boys come out to play
The bullshit you better start squashing
Know your family would be set in place doing car washes
Have you taking shots like you was bar hoppin
You know the doctrine, since when the fuck y'all start poppin?
Medaliano, Masonic murder rap scholar
[?], major models sophisticado
Might Colombian fashion your casket
Put your head in a basket
There′s no way for you to even mask it
It′s the fuck I'm talking ′bout, man
Y'know I mean?
From the ground on up, dirty shit man
Yea
