(feat. Trae) 



[talking] 

Thank you thank you very much 

Now it's back to the block, holla 

You know, we from the hood right 

We use to running from the cops, let's go 



[Hook] 

Hold up shhh wait, I think I hear the cops 

Whoa, it's time to close down shop 

Hold up shhh wait, I think I hear the cops 

You hear them tires, when the block get hot 



[Lil' Flip] 

I'm straight off the plane, on my way to the block 

Instead of a Matchbox, I got a neck full of rocks 

A gold Bentley watch, with three karats on top 

You know I got eight clovers, with three in the shop 

Nigga I'm straight from the gutter, too fresh to stutter 

In my hood you rap, play ball or hustle 

And if you living with your mother, and you over 18 

That's a god damn shame, if you know what I mean 

I'm still down with Will-Lean, cause he kept it one hundred 

That's why, he got a welcome back piece on his stomach 

My chinchilla been iller, cause I cut the sleeves 

And most niggaz get X'd out, because of greed 

I'm top five dead or alive, I need my props 

Left Miami in my plane, I had to leave my yacht 

And I try my best, to figure y'all people out 

But niggaz hate it cause I made it, and I'm sitting on top 

I use to run from the cops, four years ago 

A hardheaded young kid, stealing vehicles 

My best friend got shot, and my uncle got popped 

The FEDs caught his ass, coming out of Little Rock 

I pack a lil' glock, a deuce-deuce in my socks 

When y'all gon realize, I got the streets on lock 

And my new Caprice drop, plus I got a L-Dog 

Nigga this is how I'm living, I ain't gotta tell y'all 

I'm about my mail dog, they told me I would fail y'all 

I'm a hustler, I ain't gotta use a fucking scale dog 

I'm about my mail y'all, they told me I would fail y'all 

I'm a hustler, I ain't gotta use a fucking scale dog 



[Hook] 



[Lil' Flip] 

Niggaz respect me in my hood, cause I don't kiss no ass 

I got my license for my gun, cause I ain't miss no class 

Brr-ack now get back, before this 4-5 kick back 

What happened to that tough talk, where your click at 

I be in Harlem, with Jim and Cam 

Or you can catch me in the Bronx, with Macho hoe 

Or Fat Joe prick, you know I roll with them guards 

We take niggaz off the streets, and give 'em jobs 

And most rappers play hard, until they take a bullet 

Anybody can get shot, it take a man to pull it 

So what you proving, not a god damn thang 

I peep your game, you just want fame off my name 

But your plan back fired, cause I run the streets 

We the new N.W.A. man, fuck the police 

You better listen close nigga, cause I made this beat 

I just shitted on you niggaz, cause I ate the beef 

Get it, a fresh fitted with a button up shirt 

I just add a little water, to fluffen my work 

I got love for the streets, and they love me back 

Cause everytime I get back, we all go get tats 

And we all getting fat, cause I share the wealth 

And I got the number one album, on the shelf 

And we all getting fat, cause I share the wealth 

I got the number one album, on the fucking shelf 



[Hook] 



[Z-Ro] 

24 hours a day, the po-po's pass me 

They know I'm legit, but I know they would love to harass me 

Cause I'm young and I'm having thangs, and they don't like that 

Especially when they see me rolling, in platinum Cadillacs 

Or that Intrepid on 83's, with music in back of that 

When I'm drug dealing I hit the hood, and transact in the back of that 

But I be peeping over my shoulders, and watching my back 

Cause now police will ride in bicycles in the hood, hide the strap homie 

And you can't ride, if you got pockets full of crack homie 

I'm not capping, but I don't play with my freedom like that homie 

You know the word cop, mean Coward On Patrol 

Back in school they were the ones that never fought back, they ran and told 

Now they got the right, to pack a pistol and shit 

That's why they pull up on the block, fucking with niggaz and shit 

I even had to tint my windows, cause they kept on trying to peep in 

I know they'd love to catch me smoking, and lock me up for the weekend 



[Trae] 

I guess they figured they could do us, but now we got problems 

My niggaz specialize in murders, where it ain't no solving 

Equipped with the gat away skills, from posting up on the block 

Where these fiends be all around you, like roaches up on the block 

Never protecting but they serve, collecting they change 

From marijuana to X pills, drank hard to caine 

But still they incarcerate, my niggaz for half a dollar 

And these snitches working with em, so I ain't got time to holler 

Ain't no talking on my phone, unless you in A.B.N. 

Other than that you got the wrong number, cause I don't know no friends 

But anyway what's the bidness, you riding behind a G 

Suck my dick and get to worsing and slice the fuck off of me 



[Hook]