[Hook]
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down

[Verse 1]
Right now, every n***a out here got a problem
My money ain't right, n***a, I'm damn near starvin'
'Bout to murk something for real, I'm down to my last
Either I'm getting killed or getting my hands on some cash
All the dues that I paid, I want back, n***as owe me
Y'all done fucked up, turned me back to the old me
I done lost the Hummer, the Benz, and the Rover
The mansion I had going through a foreclosure
See me in the hood, think I'm good, well I'm not
Look at me wrong, I'll put you in a wood box
Following home whoever got the cash in here
Fuck that star shit, I ain't been platinum in years
Look, I'll let your family go, son, first thing tomorrow
But today, I need you to make a withdrawal
All them bullshit movies ain't getting me paid
Making scale for an actor, that's minimum wage
Sign 100 dollar bills on some autograph shit while I'm broke?
Fuck that, I'm robbing all these bastards!
I don't eat? Nobody don't eat no more
I make your life Hell, you have to tip toe to the store
Straight slap a n***a, stomp him out, no time to argue
Spaz out and take my frustration out on you
My moms taught me better, but her breath was wasted
So what, you work hard for yours? I work hard to take it!

[Hook]
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down

[Verse 2]
Get my money right, Sticky on that Brooklyn bullshit
I got guns, n***a, and I'm quick to pull it
How I go from being the illest back to being poor?
Guess I wasn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer
I ain't got my own clothes line or none of that shit
Only asset I own is this gun on my hip
I never punch the clock but always have plenty of money
My type of 9 to 5 could get you a 10 to 20
I ain't graduate school, I ain't got no degrees
Only training that I got is what I learned in the streets
You know, chop a n***a's head, sell a n***a's heat
Do a stick up here and there, serving n***as weed
Twelve years I carried the whole hood on my back
Seem like they tryna write me out the book of rap
But fuck that! I leave my mark across the border
Fuck, I'll pull a Columbine at the Source Awards
Gon' die anyway, fuck it, make it excitin'
This ain't music! N***a, this my life that I'm writin'
Take away the diamonds, the money, and all of the fame
Man to man, I'm iller than any n***a in this fucking game!

[Hook]
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down
The streets know I'm 'bout to debo the whole fucking game
I ain't playing around, laying n***as down
What, who want it know?
Run your mouth, n***a, see if I don't gun you down