You got trees n***a, roll something up
you got G's n***a, throw something up
You got heat nigga, hold something up
You say you drop bombs n***a, blow something up

You rip tracks n***a, flow something up
You all that shorty, show something up
We in the club, sipping Cris' in a cup
We just living it up, we ain't giving a f*** (Yeah)

Let's take it straight from the top
I know you Scrabbies gone hate when I drop
Look at the kid, he making it pop
Yeah nigga, I'm great and you not
You got a mediocre flow, only good to your block

I'm tryin to buy a spot on the moon and visit to mars
When Ya'll niggas get money, Ya'll spend it on cars
So you can roam around this shit, thinking your hard
When your a soft little flower, like the one's in my yard

F*** a freestyle, boy you better write your rhymes
I'm the type, Cornie rappers don't like at times
you ain't know little homie, better ask somebody
Only Gangster you know is what you read on Gotti (Listen)

I'll end your career and leave you right there
You only sound good, with a blunt and a beer
You ain't ready for the lid I'm raw, so sick it's a shame
Blow your ass right back where you came (Blow)

You got trees n***a, roll something up
you got G's n***a, throw something up
You got heat nigga, hold something up
You say you drop bombs n***a, blow something up

Now if you, Just take - one look at me son
Check my skin complexion, you'll see where I'm from
i didn't ask to be here, I wasn't brought here first class
Check my history, observe the path - I took

It wasn't by choice, I didn't come here in a Royce
It was clearly by force, so many tossed over
Now every Dutch i split is for them lost soldiers
That's why we write these songs that cross over

Man, we trying to get back, we trying to get that
You better fall back Scrabbie I ain't with that
I need a couple mill, four maybe six flat
Homie we ain't chicks, I ain't with all that chit chat

So, let not talk about him or diss that
We can shoot the breeze over blunts and a six pack
cfter the check clears, am I a threat yeah
I'm trying to get there and stack doe like Brit' Spears

You got trees n***a, roll something up
you got G's n***a, throw something up
You got heat nigga, hold something up
You say you drop bombs n***a, blow something up

You rip tracks n***a, flow something up
You all that shorty, show something up
We in the club, sipping Cris' in a cup
We just living it up, we ain't giving a f*** (What)

Yo who these n****s from the Burbs, trying to flow on a record
Only time they seen a hood is when they throw on a sweater
What you know about a hood, kids scared to play
Where they be picking bodies up, like the MTc

Little kids round twelve, hit your tints wit spray
That'll light your front seat, like it's Christmas day (Ya heard me)
Pop something and that's just for play
Where the cops don't come, they be running away

Where the kids eat chicken and oxtail and box well
Run up to your crib, hit your window wit cocktails
Where cracks hot on the block sales
cnd more little n****s disappearing in the hood than in Roswell

I'm no stranger to struggle, I maintain on a level
Of higher learning, my main frame is forever working
I'm in the rap s*** for only one purpose
cnd I ain't leaving till I'm seeing more platinum's than Rodney Jerkins

You got trees n***a, roll something up
you got G's n***a, throw something up
You got heat nigga, hold something up
You say you drop bombs n***a, blow something up

You rip tracks n***a, flow something up
You all that shorty, show something up
We in the club, sipping Cris' in a cup
We just living it up, we ain't giving a f*** (What)