[Intro]
Statik Selektah

[Verse 1: T.F]
That’s the last he heard 'fore he hit the curb
Bounced out, then we dipped and swerved back to the 'burbs
The honeycomb where we sealing up bows
But I still might mask up and go and steal me a loan
The other day, I gave my mama a dub
I came a long way from court dates shackled, couldn’t give mama a hug
Got my Pradas in the mud, I’m proud of my slums
This that Statik and Bun, featuring my gun
Gunshots, let him live for a minute
She gotta suck it on the spot, I’m only here for a minute
Yeah, I pull up off a robbery, uh
Do about thirty on mеrch and kept it independеnt
Bad news, you killed the messenger
So don’t come talkin no bullshit and fuck your blessings up
Look, better come talkin 'bout a check or something
Blood splatter on the money, look like Franklin got some freckles on him

[Verse 2: Bun B]
Listen here bitch, I’m the one but see I’m not the one
Come sideways out the mouth, you done with or without the gun
You thought you had it out for Bun, I had it out for you
Without a clue since you got no idea what I’m bout to do
You talk a good one n***a, so do a parakeet
Keep carrying on, you know I’m carrying that pair of heat
One for that light work and one for the heavy
So I can put one through your jacket and a few through your Chevy
Let me tell you bout that trill shit, listen and learn it
Where you just can’t say you a gangsta, bitch, you gotta earn it
You better be a gladiator or at least be a goon bro
'Fore you be a face on a shirt they blow up a balloon for
You know I’m from the ghetto, ho, so don’t put it past me
Have your homies speechless, looking for some help like he Lassie
Better be up out the building ‘fore I finish my drink
Or I'ma put your ass to sleep before you finish a blink, bitch
[Verse 3: Cal Wayne]
Yo, the struggle never bothered me, nowhere near where I oughta be
Dope boy fraternities and hood rat sororities
Gunshots make it hard to sleep, no respect for authority
A four-time loser, it’s a blessing I still walk the streets
I remember washing the clothes up in the dish detergent
Record label scared to sign me, the plug won’t even serve me
My partner lost his trial, my partner died in surgery
And I be clutching all the time 'cause people make me nervous
They purging where I’m from, it’s a switch up on that drum
Shots fired, Houston, Southside, five dollars’ll get you slumped
No captains in my lap, the speakers hogging up the trunk
Pouring punch and smoking Runts, diamonds in my gold fronts
And the trap phone, I turned to the Astro, home run
And I’m from Houston, Texas where it’s hotter than the sun
Say homie, fuck a ID, hope you got yourself a gun
I’m mixed with a little Scarface, some J. Prince and Bun
I’m really lit, said ima get rich or die, I ain’t have fifty cent
For the bread I get ignorant, plenty sense but I’m with the shit
Ain’t hard to see that I’m a Third Ward diehard
Twenty on the Cuban link, in memory of George Floyd (Ghetto)
Huh