[Intro: Belly]
Filastin in my bloodstream
I got Jenin in my genes
Look

[Verse: Belly]
Even before I had a dollar to my name I wasn’t a poor man
Left the house 16, pops said I had no chance
Now I’m drawing floor plans, purchasing more land
Retired dopeman that couldn't be programmed
They romanticize the struggle I’m puzzled like ‘no ma’am’
The hustle almost killed me and most of my close fam
I got 357s, and a .357 that won’t jam, I still whoop that ass, I throw hands
Used to think you was the man, it’s all lies
This industry is all swine, felt like I was hogtied
Potato on the barrel for a small fry
Black diamonds in the watch to remind me of the dark times
No shine I was hiding in my dark mind
Ready to die, I shed tears every March nine
Uh, this feeling powerful I can’t express
Ghosts from my past that I still can’t address
Rolls-Royce Ghost private jets that I manifest
Love seeing my Arab name on that manifest
I did some shit that I’m ashamed of but I can’t regret
I been high since nine-nine and I ain’t landed yet
Hard life, G’s move quietly
The K got the silencer on it, dark night, it’s on sight
I lost the world kept my life that’s a small price
Derrick Rose flow, God told me I could ball twice
Started indie got major results
No luck no horseshoes, still we ball like the Colts
The culture turned to a cult, vultures opened the vault
Don’t compare me to other rappers, that’s a fucking insult
Van Nuys where I land fly
Shanghai collar I ain’t popping ‘cause I’m anti-
Mankind mama, bystander you should stand by
Fake gang ties, you ain’t even from the same side, watch the gang slide, uh
Sorry mama I was serving off the landline
Stepped on work and still it blew up like a landmine
Came from the dirt, survived the landslide
Sipping ‘42 in the vert, feel like the franchise
Uh, tell ‘em roll up the windows
We could smell the murder in the air when the wind blows
I got ten toes in the mud like a Flintstone
We sold packs back when Soulja Boy sold ringtones
Cold hearts, fire and brimstone
Whole blocks suffering from Stockholm Syndrome
People I’ve outgrown, cut ‘em out like a ingrown
Tried to kick the gun and got shot in the shinbone
Imagine tryna build a kingdom
In the land of the free where you could die for ya’ skin tone
Fresh off the boat if they could, they’d make us swim home
In the field and we ain’t get to see the end zone
Huh, I laugh to hold back tears
‘Cause I got a reason to live, now I hold that dear
But please, don’t call it my comeback year
I’m just tryna make enough to never come back here
Yeah