[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

That was 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

Car jacking, pistol packing, mothafuckin' choppers clapping

Metal jacket automatic magazines hate 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...

...they hating a lot, medulla oblongata
[Verse 2]

Maserati like Atari with no car keys push to start it

New Bugatti, 2 Bugatti's, Testarossa, 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 honest