[Intro: Quilly]
It ain't ever gonna stop! Cuz I ain't stoppin! Shit too real!

[Verse 1: Quilly]
I said, fuck you gon lock me up for? Cuz I gave turkey's to the poor
And my album out in stores?
You work a 9 to 5 and I'm still making more
Never had a job and I never did a chore
Presidential rollie or give the offshore
F1-50, im ballin like Paul George
I ain't catchin feelins, these bitches be all whores, keep em they all yours, I'm moving that soft more!
I thought my homie was a real one, till' he dropped that dime
I guess shit was too real, he couldn't do that time
But understand what you do before you do that crime
VVS' in the bezel how I do that shine!
Shout out to E and Reds, drop whatever on the bail
I got out about a week ago and never did I tell
Soon as they cracked the cell, I Schmoney dance up out the jail
Bitch texted me a hundred times but she never sent me mail
I'ma get this change, you ain't gotta wish me well
Wishing well, spit it well, flow raw, digi scale
Dope fiends still sick, get well, this hell, go hard
Back to Haines Street if this shit fail
I wonder if I was my P.O. and my P.O, was me
I wonder if I was the D.A. and the D.A. was me
A n***a catch a homicide, I'd prolly let him ride
I'd give him his freedom so he won't see his son cry
Tell him stay out of jail and look out for one time
I will never break your honor or never fold
They put me on parole til' I'm 40 years old
Hottest in the city but my heart real cold
Small face hundreds bitch my money real old
Blue face hundreds got these bitches on a pole
County boy shit, got me up and down the road
E-ZPass on them, I ain't stopping at a toll
Riding like the purge, you n***as got the nerve
One phone call, it's poppin, you gettin served
When I was on curve, these bitches ain't have no words
Now them labels tryna merge, these bitches is gettin curved!
Left the lot, fish tailed the whip, Mason Margiela
I can't even spell this shit
I don't even write rhymes, I exhale this shit
Now i'm just eating for them days, I was frail as shit!