[Intro]
Yeah, yeah
The Butcher comin', n***a
Griselda
We the realest n***as y'all seen in a long time
(Griselda...)

[Verse]
Ever since Griselda, these n***as been as dead as Elvis
Fuck the world, I'm selfish
Just thoughts that I came from jail with
The pot was gone, the kitchen was dirty, the jar was Hellmann's
It's karma, walk my plug for the work that I caught a cell with (damn)
When I'm back home, I'm fuckin' with killers
Fluffin' up chickens
I pull up to them n***as with them stuffed in a Fender
On the West coast, I'm one of the littest
Outside of Roscoe's smokin' dope by the Fronto with a couple of bitches
That trap talk not enough to convince us
Your prices way off, them numbers you mentioned got you under suspicion
Them poker odds gon' keep me in Vegas
We be with gangstas rockin' different Just Dons like I keep gettin' traded
Shout out the plug 'cause he sent me a package
Long as I pay him, he gon' throw 'em just like Payton in Indianapolis
These pussy n***as know Benny is savage
Sneakin' the ratchet in my G-star denims, n***a, Fendi the jacket
Happened for a reason, nothin' ain't accidental
My dog took a risk, lost a package from Sacramento
Ratchets in back of rentals, caskets, candles, vigils, we catch you
When you think you too lavish to pack a pistol
It give hope to the hood to see a hustler make it (Facts!)
3 felonies and all of 'em drug related
My shit one of one, they custom made it
24 hour trap, fuck the neighbors, get a block and suffocate it
A year ago, I was broke to keep it real
Got a few bad batches of dope I couldn't sell
Caught a brick that nobody wanted, I took a L (damn)
Then I wrote My First Brick, it's a classic, so I excelled (yep!)
Turn somethin' tragic right into magic, so I prevailed
My kids happy, and your bitch happy, and I'm not in jail
When you look at it from that perspective, guess I did well
We street n***as, so my integrity, not for sale (nah)
When the pies land, everybody buyin' slices
N***as havin' seeds and buy V's, instead of buyin' diapers
MAC-11 sprayin' like a fire hydrant
Bullets got your name on 'em like a driver's license
I went down for conspiracy as a teen
N***as lyin' 'bout their past but apparently that's a thing
This Glock probably melt from me airin' it at your team
And my bitch arm tired from carryin' that Céline
The Butcher, on Steroids, n***a