"This feel like that 97 Pain

I lost my mom and my brother before 97 Came

Back when Jigga had that 97 Range

My n***as was Juice Crew, moving that 97 caine

This is more than just writing and rapping

I was pushing my nickel bags in a white little napkin

I was in and out of NY either fighting or trapping

Always knew I could get that deal, it was likely to happen

But I was stuck struggling

Either rapping or drug smuggling

I’m tryna hold both in my hands, I’m just juggling

44 Colt in my pants, the blood bubbling

Shorty moving coke in the van, I’m just plugging em
Y’all don’t hear me at all

Though a n***a speaking sincerely, I’ve done clearly evolved

Front on the guy, and I’m airing the Hall

Enough bullets in the mother fucking gun, I can clear out the mall
I’m sayin

Learned to hustle and then cook back up

It wasn’t school when we went to pick the book bags up

Hammers was everywhere, my old heads could hook that up

You robbing who? Get shot twice before you look back up
I’m sayin

You now witnessing the God

A Goodfella, was raised by a member of the mob

Hollywood St, South Philly, vivid with the bars

Bronx Tale shit, me and Sonny sitting in the bar
Yeah!
Man, I think he had Alqaeda with him

Did a bunch of dirt, a n***a could’ve got indicted with him

Went to Jail, & never told, that’s the fighter in him

He swallowed his own poison, now that's spider venom

Yeah, we was slick as they come

Just cause I rap, you don’t know about the shit that I’ve done

Faith in 3 things: God, My Bitch, and My Gun

You wanna hear a real n***a, now you listen to one

IT’S PAYNE!"