[Intro]
Yeh
Jets, n***a, where haven’t we
(They look up to the, yeh)
Fuck boys wondering if they
Bitch… next, yeh
Real life, yeah
Jet Files, n***a, uh

[Verse]
St. Charles street, cars still clanging
N***as who was in-front of the corner store is still hanging
Ain’t nothing changing, they just aging
Three-hundred-sixty-five days
As if they was pages in a leather bound book
Swam away with the flow, the sharks shook
Free from the hook and sank the boat
I break bread wit’ my n***as when I come off the road with the doe
To open they eyes, and show ‘em the ropes
That’s how the game go, or it’s sposed to
As a young’n I was schooled to the rules by the older dudes
That’s why I warn my lil’ homie ‘bout his funny crew, they makin’ sucka moves
You can’t take them mistakes back, Slick
I seen handguns make young dumb n***as backflip
I think my lil’ bro too cool for that shit
Plus I’m fin to see some major cake on the rap tip
Grub up like Hush Puppies, and thinly sliced catfish
N***a Penny Hardaway with the Magic
Number one status, dictionaries, compass, and a atlas
Wordsmith, I’m all over the world, where ya at bitch
Still on top the money like the dope boy mattress
[Outro]
Jets, n***a, now where haven’t we
Jet… Files
N***a, Jet Files, uh
Fool
Fool I drop them bomb-ass tapes

Jet Files, let’s go