I spit that other shit
That guns and butter shit
That cooking eggs in the kitchen
That Melvin fucking your mother shit

That gutter shit
That late night in the summer shit
On the stoop getting high
Chris Tucker shit
N***a we everywhere
You lames is never there

I got my feet on the table
Sitting in leather chairs
This that sippin’ Henny out of champagne glass
This that burn the L while sittin’ in first class
This that old school collabin’ with new school
And I broke into this old ass game with new rules

I got guys with loose screws
That shoot tools
That learned from the OGs
That shoot pool
Drinkin’ a forty-ounce and puffin’ a few Kools
Tellin’ us who they popped
And how they moved cubes
Where I’m from, you snooze you lose
If you nap, you a wrap
Act a fool, you food
It’s Brooklyn, the home of the best n***as to do it
But now rappers is trash
The game is all polluted
But I don’t care ‘cause my movement is moving
And I’m still humble, gettin’ money and booling

I couldn’t say I was nice
I had to prove it
If I never got aggressive
They would have never knew it
They would have never listened
No haters or criticism
When they were sleep
I woke and poked them
Kicked them and pinched them
Wake up bitches