[Intro: Boldy James]
Yeah
(La música de Harry Fraud)

[Verse 1: Boldy James]
Holy Christ and Jesus, Latter Day Saints, I caught a half a brickie
Climbin' up the ladder of success, I brought my latter with me
Double cup of purple so it's 'Rex in that lamb chop
Modern-day version of my grandpops with a flask of whiskey
Sprinkling hashish on backs of white Runtz and black truffle
Eight Super Bowl rings on my hands, look like some brass knuckles
Thirty-popper on your third eye, fuck with my first lady
Stirred the pot, stirrin' stir fry, you know I'm stir-crazy
First eighty K, they tried to persuade me not to murk Davie
Got him out the way around the time I dropped my first Mercedes
Kitchen cabinеt full of eight-ounce bottles likе a Gerber baby
Sittin' on a chirp of dog, shit look like a bird with rabies
Checkin' in on that red-eye flight, might have to check a bag
Checkin' out my room, trunk full of dope, follow that checkered cab
Nike checks on my Off-Whites, courtesy of Virgil
We ran the place so many times that by now, we don't need no rehearsal
Are we there yet?

[Chorus: Boldy James]
Still trappin' in the jungle
Still havin' motion, havin' real racks, rich and humble
Cell tapped, no rebuttal, fell back from the huddle
Blow fell on the dorms, look like a gel cap when it crumble
Yeah, now run and tell that to the bumbles
Rumble pack on the machete, four quarters in a O
It's sixty-four in a 'bow, thirty-six a quarter crow
Brick of blow one-forty-four, twelve packs in a bundle
[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher]
It ain't no secret, I was really eatin', pashtun slingin' keys (That's me)
Good dope that's best served raw like Japanese cuisine (Ah)
From my city to Detroit, where we like Magic and Kareem
Body bags in that Pontiac, I took the 90 back with ease, yeah
Three shooters, one driver, we spinnin' carpools
Game ain't get it from law school, got it movin' blue ribbon dog food (Ribbon dog food)
I bought the coupe then I snatched the truck (Snatched the truck), they see me and add me up
I'ma have a hundred plus on when you dap me up (What's up with you?)
Yeah, and that's what's up (That's what's up), uh
Well, watch what I do this summer, that new Patek bust gon' cost like two caddy trucks (Two caddy trucks)
I love to talk about it 'cause them bricks was a real thing (It was real)
'Cause the tape in them flakes shining Tiffany teal green (Ah)
It's a victory lap for hustlers (For hustlers) who literally had to suffer
I'm on rich n***a shit, now I sit in the back for comfort (Check it)
I'm at the fence bettin' money, I told 'em that I want the under (Give me the under)
I hit a good lick then married a hood chick just like I'm Shumpert (Like I'm Shumpert)
When they shit drop, they shit go from the studio to the dumpster (Man, that shit trash)
I'm in my interviews, tellin' war stories on No Jumper, n***a
Ah

[Chorus: Boldy James]
Still trappin' in the jungle
Still havin' motion, havin' real racks, rich and humble
Cell tapped, no rebuttal, fell back from the huddle
Blow fell on the dorms, look like a gel cap when it crumble
Yeah, now run and tell that to the bumbles
Rumble pack on the machete, four quarters in a O
It's sixty-four in a 'bow, thirty-six a quarter crow
Brick of blow one-forty-four, twelve packs in a bundle
Count up
[Outro: Benny the Butcher]
Yeah, Bo Jack
My n***a bounced back like nothin', man
We made of titanium, n***a, fuck you thought?