[Intro]

[Verse 1: Jay Jones]
Shit, I never wanted handouts, I say I'ma take the man route
Went from stayin' in Gram's house, got bread to get the fam out
I tried to get away, but the streets got me
I'm in the trenches, I could be on the beach probably, but Lord knows
Ready for smoke, grab the black bag, ain't doing that bad
They say I never seen a rap cheque, fuck history
I never failed the math test, bullets can't even hit a G
I guess you can say I'm that blessed, Section 8 like the projects
Soak it and let it digest, started off with weed
Now he graduated to pyrex, rolled up in a leaf
That's my relief, along with Hi-Tech, got n***as on the street
I'm wondering how they ain't die yet, shit
'Cause shit ain't the same, n***a, so watch where you hang, n***a
Gon' get your ass in trouble, you thought life was a game, n***a
I did this off the muscle, me and you not the same, n***a
Same hittas, tryna fit a cap through a drop-top, brain missing
South Beach, I got a Cuban bitch from Jamain, n***a
Plug thought I just might flood the streets with the cane, n***a
Time hard but you know sun gon' shine after rain, n***a
Never trusting [?], eventually they gon change, n***a
Pain, don't like to talk about it
I get to thinkin' [?], they like to push it, and they coffin bout it
Go Vietnam, invest in bombs, and start a war about it
Murder your moms, over the lines, 'cause we gon' cross them out quick, shit
You live by the gun, you die by the gun
I get so high I just said hi to the sun
I tell my girl we need to have a son, ain't giving up till the battle is done
Don't give a fuck, because I feel like I won
Jones!
[Verse 2: Curren$y]
City small so the wrist big
I went through a shit storm, but I'm still here
I just slid through the door before that bitch closed
And then attached the C4, blew it off the hinge, bitch
Let my homies in, dig this, n***as ain't slick
I'm on it, we talked about how to fix you this morning
That cake bake n***a, just wait
I'm on skates, Daytons on my Chevrolet
New Impalas everyday, n***as dying everyday
This New Orleans, what's new? Be cool
'Fore the next rhyme we write might about about you, they shook
Rap cappers, no hooks, behind back passes
Alley oops, no looks, we all on the scoreboard
We all stars, like Chuck Taylors
Racing Lamborghinis with soccer players, off season in Brazil cheefin'
Eastside to your side, it ain't easy

[Interlude]

[Outro: Curren$y]
Jay Jones hit you with the setup
Jay Jones come in this motherfucker with 50 bars
Young Money Jet Life, n***a
East Side to Hollygrove, Hollygrove to East Side
Make sure you got gas money
You get caught up in between, I can't do shit for you, my n***a
We ain't that cool, out