[Intro: Florence Welch, Jim Jones & French Montana]
Dipset, Coke Boys
Something epic, you know?
French, what up? BX, what up?
Harlem, what's bangin'?
Lost in the fog, these hollow hills (Haha)
Blood running hot, night chills (It's power in we)
So long and lost, are you missing me? (You gettin' money or lookin' funny, huh? Huh?)
Is it too late to come on home? (Huh?)
Is it too late to come on home?
Can the city forgive? I hear it's a sad song (Holla at me, uh)

[Verse 1: French Montana]
Through the fire, right through the fall
Big bag like Santa Claus
New sauce for the summer sauce
Marching band, we the drummer boys
And tell the crib I'm on the way back
Though walked to my goals, took the plane back
And they prayed he ain't came back
All Rocky like A$AP
Un-decisive, persuasive, face lift
Top down, ageless, timeless, stone age
Running out of patience, serving up the patients
No navigation, grind like bad brakes
Eating lobster with the crabs, that's the bad taste
Same n***as on the rise still from the bad days
N***as on the rat race
Same n***as laughing at us started laughing with us
'Cause all the slammed doors turned to Lamb', Porsches
[Chorus: Florence Welch & Jim Jones]
Is it too late to come on home?
Is it too late to come on home?
Can the city forgive? I hear it's a sad song
Is it too late to come on home? (It's never too late to come home for a gangsta, uh, Capo)

[Verse 2: Jim Jones]
If nobody died, then it's not a beef (Facts)
Contrary to the lies, we all got beliefs (As-salamu Alaykum)
I still keep it in my ride or in my boxer briefs (Loaded)
Hood n***a got them yachts docking by the beach (LA, what up?)
They still treat me like a god when I'm in the H (Harlem)
Cut lawyers that eat the charge like a dinner plate (Yanna)
We was just ducking them charges on the interstate (Facts)
Watch fifty, that's an extra twenty large in the face (Bust it down)
We both getting money, that is not the issue (You hear me?)
I'm trying to find my woosa like some chakra crystals (Pray for me)
Still hit a n***a with a TEC but I ain't got a whistle
Slide to the wake, make sure your moms get a box of tissue (Kleenex)
We gon' hit whoever rocking with you (Who)
Catch your ass in Houston, shoot you, make sure you got rockets with you (Nero, what up?)
We come home, we get a welcoming committee
When you fuck n***as go home, you ain't welcome in your city (N***a)

[Chorus: Florence Welch & Jim Jones]
Is it too late (Too late for what?) to come on home? (N***a, when I show up late, I'm right on time)
Is it too late to come on home? (Better late than never, ya heard?)
Can the city forgive? I hear it's a sad song
Is it too late to come on home?
[Outro: Jim Jones]
They tell me if you get money then it shouldn't be able to fit in your pocket, n***a
My money can't fit in a bag so what type of bag you n***as is gettin'?
We drinking Ace and Ciroc all night, you heard?
I been a bad boy, tell Diddy I been selling that Danity Kane to get that dirty money, you heard me, money?
French, what's up? BX, Harlem