[Chorus]
I got street sense; wouldn’t pay a bitch three cents
Strapped, yeah, I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit if you ain’t got street sense

[Verse 1: E-40]
My rubber bands is conceited, my pistol don’t like nobody
My bullets ain’t got no names
Keep a stick but I don’t play hockey
I move with movers and shakers, they’re serious about their paper
They loyal, they not no traitors
They’ll shut you down like a breaker (UH!)
Better not get out of line
Check a hoe like a Nike sign
Ghetto pass’ll never decline
Ghetto pass’ll never decline; check a hoe like a Nike sign
I’d pull a sofa up in the middle of Magazine Street and recline
Never drop a dime, never tell, never talk
Do the crime, do the time, that’s the way I was taught
They’ll rob and they’ll kill you over some dank
Materialistic shit can be replaced but lives cain’t
I try to talk to the youngsters, play my position
Give them O.G. game and wisdom but none of ‘em wanna listen
Just a few, and if you gon’ grow up to be an O.G. too
You gotta know that sucka shit contagious like the flu
BIATCH!
[Chorus]
I got street sense; wouldn’t pay a bitch three cents
Strapped, yeah, I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit if you ain’t got street sense

[Verse 2: Cousin Fik]
Real got strippers on the bed, they taking naps
Hand on the pack, other hand on the strap
Just to wake up to some money in the trap
And go hop in the box Chevy with the slap, ay
And we don’t slap five, we give dap
I can get you hit with a finger snap (Like that)
If you ask me favorite out all my hats
I’d probably have to say my thinking cap
Hand is on my lap in case I gotta blast
And I keep at least a half a tank of gas
Cannabis card on me but my grass is in a turkey bag
Finna keep it real, I’d probably cop a new Prius before a Jag
‘Cause I’m all about the cash, man, muhfuck some swag
Hoe, I got class, that ain’t got a price tag
Say he looking for a lick ‘cause he need some bread bad
I’mma fall back, automatic red flag
[Chorus]
I got street sense; wouldn’t pay a bitch three cents
Strapped, yeah, I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit if you ain’t got street sense

[Verse 3: Choose Up Cheese]
Street sale spots all looking like The Wire
Riding with the hammer even though I got priors
Choose Up Cheese on the plug, baby, shoutout to my buyers
Bitches call me Kevin Gates, n***a, I don’t get tired
In the streets every day wishing that I had a helmet
I don’t know who I could trust, it seem like everybody selfish
N***a play me close, I swear to God he getting melted
The homie, he a shooter, he got bodies, man, he careless
Got a old soul, man, my game from the ‘80s
You can’t get three cent, everything is on the ladies
She went and bought a Beamer, she bought me a Mercedes
All I know is money and I get it on the daily
All I scream is ‘Pay me,’ cash is the motto
And if you ain’t got it then a n***a on the throttle
I got too much street sense and I was laced from the womb
A step ahead of the game, can’t pull a jack move
[Chorus]
I got street sense; wouldn’t pay a bitch three cents
Strapped, yeah, I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit if you ain’t got street sense