[Produced by Ty-Tracks]
[Verse 1]
We tie dynamite to the rhino type
Wino might find yo' sight
Sell the information for a dime of white, that China-China
I'm behind the diner, selling marijuana to a minor-minor
Elder fella; looking for that shine? I'll shine ya
My mind designa. You a dime? I'll dine ya
Madonna momma, body bottled, you're fine. I'm finer
Time to climb her, climb behind vagina
Then I hymen-grind her 'til her mom remind her
Diamonds blind her; vision's gone, kiss her palm
Turn her arm, lift her arm, notice that her wrists is wrong
"Gotta get it right ma, we gon' get along"
Said "how?" "don't trip," but, yo, the trick is wrong
First visi-on, day job tick-a-tron
Nighttime, Mr. Mom. Bootleg Cris and Don
Brother Chris and Don, and their sister Carm
They sell yey, you'll say "yay, this shit's the bomb"
I'mma hit my man, tell 'em you my pick upon
The rest, so yes, you'll be blessed to hit the intercom
You know, kiss his mom. She gave him wisdom charm
And their father come from a long list of dons
And I get it cheaper, I cop bricks like sneakers
And if the cops come, I just hit amnesia
But I give you an earful, it's tearful
Told my mother I hustle and she said "be careful"
[Hook]
Why I feel like I'm losing weight?
Why I ain't got no money if I'm moving weight?
My life's based upon what I'mma do this year
Cop a boat, cop a Lear
Now the army suit's cute with my chocolate Airs
You ain't gotta stare, go cop a pair
Still the scrutiny, nothing they can do to me
I made sure my mother and girl is smothered in pearls
When a nigga under the world
[Verse 2]
Everybody like, "Cam got the recipe now!"
Not them 3 girls I got to be Destiny's Child
Specially equities, reckon we smile
In the fear, tech the tech and use the tech that we wile
Detective deceptive, receptive of fouls
Hectic, Heckler & Koch
Helicopters on the set of my sales
Nah, I ain't gonna be embedded in jail
Talking to a cellmate in a bed in a jail, dog
I broke bread with the whale, fled from some seals
And the house, I was the head of the hills, shit
You get a dumb ho, and get dumb-happy
Go to the gun show, get gun-happy
Stuck, killed, mugged, milled
Tone, flint, sticks, bo, Chub's milk
Pucci baba, but I got the hardest shells
We the Midwest gun cartel nigga
Ya, we'll just clap up your brains, snatch up your chains
See dog? Rap is my aim
But I'm a hustler, in my heart, trapped is the game
Attached to my frame, tapped to my brain, the fact still remains:
It wasn't rap, it was crack that got the racks on the Range
Look dog, don't be asking for Dame, see
Playboy, I don't own that man
And anyway, homeboy, you a grown-ass man, shit
And when I rap it ain't no punchline
I be on the highway dirty, crunch time
No timeouts homeboy, just one time
If they find that stash box just one time
Shit, they'll put the dogs in the truck
Side of the road, holding you up, cold as fuck
They want that button, lunge it and push it
Soon as they lunge it and push it, I run in the bushes
That's how I play mine, jump over the grapevine
Take my chances one-on-one with the K9
Stealing a clip for anyone squealing they lips
Fuck y'all if y'all ain't feeling the Dips
