I'm feeling like a Houston Texan
Shorty on the phone immature like Marcus Houston texting
Lord, I never said I was getting a Ford
I said that I was copping some shit that they can't afford
It's funny now, Freddy God, you can't ignore
They used to wanna sleep, but now I don't hear a snore
Morning, the coffee inside the coffee maker
If you in a rush, the coffee cake, I brought you it
TBM ready, balls been heavy
Office murder, (?) burger, I've been ready
Still a beast
They wanna hear some shit, see this the difference
I got a crib and a studio, your crib is a studio, we got different rents
My re-up is a Kia
You don't like the way that I handle the rock then n***a D up
Cleared out; isolation
A capella in these last lines for observation
Contraband, February 28th, y'all, Freddy God