[Intro: J Nics]
Yeah, that sound good
That sound good
(That sound good)
(That sound good)
Aye (Aye) (Aye) (Aye)
RideLowMane
(RideLowMane)
(RideLowMane)
(RideLowMane)
Let’s get it
(Let’s get it)
(Let’s get it)
(Let’s get it)
Aye (Aye)

[Verse 1: J Nics]
Murder was the case, so you can’t get specific
A hundred in the safe off the coast of Pacific
Serving Frosted Flakes
Now she say the dick is “Gr-Gr-Great!”
Blowin' grass, n***a higher than the stakes

Check the math, more digits than the license plate
N***as doin' real numbers, but they actin' fake
My pieces hittin’ like a uppercut from Cassius Clay
I’m on some “Which bitch can a n***a have today?”
Fuck an affidavit, trying to cop the latest
So my kids can spill food in the finest places
N***as talkin' real rude, but never in our faces
It’s like me and my heroes been changing places

From Euro to dinero, we for exchanging
Do them hoes like my baggage, I ain’t never claiming
I’m real Randy Savage
Off the top, Superboy, Babbage
What a night, n***a bumpin’ Gladys

Extra leafy green on the salad
N***as chillin', listening to ballads
Ice grillin', full of carats
How you living? Even the ceiling fan is automatic
Me and my dreams like Nicotine — I gotta have it
Yeah

[Interlude]
G way more realer than that, baby
Get more realer than LAT
G, it’s not just futuristic, it’s playeristic
For the players only, you dig it?
Yeah-yeah

[Verse 2: J Nics]
Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite
All my bitches think I’m photogenic
She singing to it like she Ari Lennox
I’m the god fresh off Mount Olympus
Against the odds, touching all the limits
Pulling cards, Ace of Spade got her in her feelings
When times was hard, we had to wrap it up and vacuum seal it
Tim McGraw, hit the road with that country business
But we ain’t country n***as, we 'round the country gettin’ it

Southern n***as ain’t slow and I ain’t cookin’ Chitlins
But you still lose intestines, the MAC relentless
Not Blood, but all the bros got a blood commitment
I ain’t thuggin’, killa, but we just keep it pimpin’

[Verse 3: Boldy James]
Made a sharp turn around the corner, peacing out the quarters
Shorted Titi from the last time, she was out of order
Police in the turning lane behind me, cut the blinker on
Made a left into the gas station, "Give me ten on Pump 8"

Right back on the ave, crankin’ on my way to make a play
'Cause I can’t leave that bag waiting
Curbside service, n***as still makin' house calls
Bus left at 9:20, drop bro at the Hound Dog

Outlaw Immortal, from the "Cradle To The Grave""
Screaming, “How long will they mourn me?” – you can never feel my pain
Kept it Fatal like Hussein; dinner table full of 'caine
If you reach then we gon' teach – you can never feel my chain
I ain’t never been a stan, I’m forever with the gang
We policing in the street, you can never kill my name
I’m a real Road Runner, you can never steal my lane
They know me from dope running, we was never built the same, n***a

[Refrain: J Nics]
Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite
All my bitches think I’m photogenic
Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite
All my bitches think I’m photogenic
Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite
All my bitches think I’m photogenic
Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite
All my bitches think I’m photogenic

[Outro]
"No one knows how many working pimps there are in the United States. It is know that many pimps, though they like to describe themselves as gentlemen of leisure, in fact do work in pushing and dealing in drugs."

"You understand? I come up, wanting things out of life, you know, and uh, I’m-I found a way to get things that I want, seeing as I wasn’t born with a gold spoon in my mouth, and I don’t have none of that old cash, I felt as if, uh, I want things that out of life, and there’s only one way to get them, and that’s cash—money" {*echoes out*}