[Intro: Duffy]
N***a
You know what the fuck goin' on
Yeah
Get in my bag

[Chours: Duffy]
I'm in my bag, I get to it
They ask how I do it, I really just do what I do
Got a few rap n***as spooked, they know we into it
And no, I ain't callin' no truce
I really put in them hours to get all these blues, this shit off the strength, who is you?
You better salute, you can't step in my shoes
We know the truth, just chill out, my youth

[Verse 1: Duffy]
I got your bitch in the stu' and the Drac' in the booth and she off of 1942
Heard y'all was cool, ayy, we like to shoot
So go tell them n***as to pop out and hoop
Ready to jump out, I'll go stupid, I'm makin' my move without even thinkin' it through
Fifty-round drum, we bringin' that too
We got the juicе, just chill out, my youth
We got the Mussle, just chill out, my young
I had to go husslе, this shit out the mud
Been totin' guns and now we just older
Upgraded to choppers and switches and drums
I got a Glock that's so pretty, she always be with me, I think that I'm fallin' in love
Lean in my cup and some opps in my blunt
You n***as act tricky off all of them drugs
Styrofoam muddy, enjoying my high
Don't talk when I'm rappin', this killing my vibe
You came with the mop, I know they gon' ride
That n***as you see me with all down to slide
Brought out the 9, I got it inside
A dumb n***a play, then his chain gon' be mine
You ain't gon' blow, step aside
I'm uppin' my fire in public, I'm really too fried
Stay with my pole, that's for sure, he ordered that beef, it's to go, look
These n***as is grown and just got put on
They big homies know they wrong
N***as do shit that we just don't condone
I don't do the cap in my music, shit
Long live the Don, the influence
N***as is sick we get to it, n***a
[Chours: Duffy]
I'm in my bag, I get to it
They ask how I do it, I really just do what I do
Got a few rap n***as spooked, they know we into it
And no, I ain't callin' no truce
I really put in them hours to get all these blues, this shit off the strength, who is you?
You better salute, you can't step in my shoes
We know the truth, just chill out, my youth

[Verse 2: Blue Pesos]
Shit, bitch, I'm the truth
Keep your mouth shut when I step in the booth
Fifty-round drum when I step in the booth
They'd be down the block, they just need my approval
My whole team eatin', you could tell by the jewelry
Somebody call Rudy
Twenty-somethin' racks, got it stuffed in the Louis
Cook him for tellin', we fire Ratatouille
Don't hang with no Judas, jebroni or no loser
Could slap with a ruler, bitch strip like a show girl
Cartier got my wrist cold as the North Pole
Throw that shit up, he supporty DiGiorno
Hop out real quick, case he call, keep the car on
Slaymaster Splinter came with Ninja Turtles
McLovin-ass n***a, your mommy in Urkel
Lil' square-ass n***a, don't fit in my circle
Sneakin' and geekin' with Susy
My shooter in the cut with a Loius V kofi
You used to be deuce deuce, and now it's a hosey
I only do rich bitches, don't like the groupies
Lil' bro want a fade, then it's straight to the back
We don't squabble with opps, it's 9 millis to backs
You beggin' to suck me, I only want racks
My shooter gon' spin and spin 'til he knock off a hat, ugh