[Intro: Don Cannon]
Yeah
So um, I know you ain’t heard this voice in a minute
But before shit got weird, we ran that check up
And then when I see shit is still weird
We came back to run that check up
So the reunion was necessary
The notorious co-signing Don Cannon
Cool Kids, Pac Div, n***a

[Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks]
If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya
All tatted n***as better get they baggy up
Ring, ring, wake up for the postman
And crack the back door for the ghost man

[Verse 1: Sir Michael Rocks]
Mariani lingo, eggplant parmesan
Persian rug and cat, I’m good on all the hand daps
I don’t like when n***as call me big bro and they got kids
I don’t even got kids, miss me with that weird shit
Thе stocks getting boxed in, my crypto in the top tеn
My accountant told me what’s the play and then I hopped in
I just put a hundred in your GoFundMe budget
I just did it just to spite you, I love it
The drama, the conflict, the calls to your cousin
You tried to sick ‘em on me but they told you you was bugging
Real stupid, goofy, smart guy
A bunch of groupies in your archive
Old bald n***as get designered down
Get a Corvette drop and then ride around
I seen this game take n***as with dreams
Get a buzz, move to LA, and turn to a fiend
Probably wish that you could turn to a team but you ain’t got one
Not one, all you got is ghostriding shotgun
Cap got traded in, the crib get gated in (gated in)
It’s a beautiful thing, ain’t it, man

[Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks]
If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya
All tatted n***as better get they baggy up
Ring, ring, wake up for the postman
And crack the back door for the ghost man
[Verse 2: Chuck Inglish]
Aye
Leather sandals, [?], [?] on the mantle
Fireplace like a candle, if you straight me, I’ll slant you
The best rapper that you seen make beats
The real tea is I’m kinda next to Jay Dee
Can’t play me, we can never trade seats
[?] on the leather alligator under my sneaks
Either that or I’ma fry it
You smoke that muhfucka, taste just like unagi
Over fire the bulgogi
Brick chopper in my hands, yea man I know karate
I could pick apart a ripple in the water, make it stop
Put my wrist back in it, whipping tides in and out

[Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks]
If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya
All tatted n***as better get they baggy up
Ring, ring, wake up for the postman
And crack the back door for the ghost man

[Verse 3: Mibbs]
Excuse me
Nothing under the Stussy bucket but buckets (swish)
Seven hundred for Gucci sneakers, fuck it (I did it)
Nothing else on my mind, I’m minding these duckets
If you don’t push a hard line then you’s a buster
I do you justice, blue bucks in my clutches
Get walked down by the homie who walk with crutches
Burberry swim trunks for the summertime
I play better when everything is on the line
Just head east on Adams for me one time
Nice whip, is that a lease or you tryna buy?
You wanna deal with police or you tryna slide?
Nowadays, a sneak diss mean you tryna die
[Verse 4: Like]
See you, at Home Depot in JNCO jeans
The sales clerk mistake you for Cee-Lo Green
I’m in the line behind you buying mouse traps
Place ‘em around the studio to get my style back
I brought the Don Julio and the loud pack
I’m so washed, n***a, throw me on the towel rack
You think you can out-rap...
Five hungry n***as in the waiting line at Outback?
I doubt that, talk sideways and get ya mouth cracked
Ya shit swelling up like ya gout back
This that real n***a soundtrack
Made for those who count wax and drink brown ‘gnac

[Verse 5: BeYoung]
Ayo Space Jam 11s for the lunar new year in tune
To the moons, I truly do hear
Too many coonin’ for views, I refuse to compare
Placing bids off the grid ‘til the true reappear
Secluded [?] as Kyrie, mastering the Tai Chi
So golden with it, woulda went plat’ in 9-3
Whole culture shifted for the bag, who’s the top leech
No Uber, Lyft, fuck a cab, sack they ride free
Huh, could probably [?] Saks Fifth Ave
The starting five hit game winners when the stats get bad
Bet I keep a Plan B for my A game
This ain’t designed for the live soldiers to maintain, the game’s lame

[Chorus: Sir Michael Rocks]
If you ain’t team, gang, squad, I ain’t tattin’ ya
All tatted n***as better get they baggy up
Ring, ring, wake up for the postman
And crack the back door for the ghost man

[Outro: Don Cannon]
Notorious
You could say we back, but that’d be an understatement
Hand me my 45 jersey