[Intro: Spice 1, Aloe Jo'el & ?]:
Blaow!
Coolin' on the corner with the cellular phone (Coolin')
You can tell that the Eastside was his home (Yeah, hey)
Most (?) than the rest of the pushers (Ooh)
And he got a Tommy Sue? in the bushes, ooh

[Chorus: Aloe Jo'el & ?]:
Rollin' with my mothafuckin' strap on the side o' me
Rollin' with my mothafucka strap on the side of me
'Cause I don't trust these bustas (No)
And I don't trust these bitches (No, no)
So I'll be rollin' with my mothafuckin' strap on the side o' me
I'll be (Rollin' with my mothafuckin' MAC)
'Cause I don't trust thеse bustas (No)
Won't stand these bitchеs (Ooh)

[Verse 1: ?]:
Plug 'em off quick, I don't trust these hoes
Keep a chopper close by like I'm E-40
Must slip or ride or die young, RIP BO
I'm ready to get caught wit' it then we out of the show (Yeah)
Save the feats with your money for your Facebook post
Then caught you slippin' on the (?) and God rest your soul
Never heard o' low pro, boy, you sag too hard
The police will jack boys, Bo (?) your car
Knots in my pocket, boy, at least 2 grand
Diamonds on my chain, pistol close at hand
Boy, you think you Superman steady lovin' them hoes
And side B set you off, man, and lock the do' (Superman, Superman)
And reelin' mo' banana clips for that marky shit
With yo' heart for what we got went from corners with bricks
My scrilla, my life, I need both them shits
Never leave home without it, boy, I keep my bitch
[Chorus]

[Verse 2: Spice 1]:
Blaow!
Coolin' on the corner with the strap on the side
I'm 187 Proof (yeah) in my neighborhood and I'm high
N***a like the Death Star, puffin' on OG Skywalker
Jedi, fetch haters like robe on my range, dead-eye (OG Skywalker)
I'm kickin' Tales from the Hood about n***as with no heart
It's Welcome to the Ghetto, 187 is an art (Tales from the Hood)
I don't trust these n***as for as I can throw a G sell in
That's why it's nothin', for sendin' they bitch-ass to ghetto Heaven, blaow!
Lodi dodi, woke up in Bugatti
And I'm just happy that a n***a has some heat on his body (Yeah)
G-g-g-got myself an UZI and my brother a nine
Gotta st-stay on al-alert 'cause haters watchin' me shine (Ooh)
It's the Bossilini, I stay heated and stay paid (Paid)
'Cause when you an't around, bitch n***as speak on your grave
Fuck 'em (yeah), ro-rollin' with the strap on the side
I even filed down a 5 and peel off my ni-nine, blaow!

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Bushwick Bill]:
Yeah, yeah, what? That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, man! That's right, never do that! (?), (?), right? You know I'm talkin' 'bout? You know what you gotta do, this is (?)
Hate is the root of all evil, don't let it get beneath you
So when a brother stop bein' frog? and see right through you (Rollin' with my mothafuckin' strap)
You know me, man, business as usual
And when it comes to love, son, make sure it's neutral (Yeah)
Cats'll shoot you, over some BS or PS
Shit, like a letter make sure you're sincere (Ooh)
I roll with 25 to lifers for my n***as not here
Throw some bravers for your speakers 'cause for you I share
My n***a never get ahead of himself (Yeah)
He tryna find ways to better himself
He wasn't lovin' the wealth (Ooh)
Cause and effect, rhyme and reason
This goes out to all my dirty side def for 12 months in 4 seasons, stay strapped
[Chorus]