[Intro]
Oh my God
Oh my God
Yeah
Uh (Fredo, let me get a light)
Uh
Uh
Yeah (Woo)

[Chorus]
Been a shooter, you can look it up (Look it up, n***a)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up
Spit in the pot before he cook it up
He spit in the pot before he cook it up
Been a shooter, you can look it up (Look it up, bitch)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Spit in the pot)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Talk to 'em)
Spit in the pot before—

[Verse 1]
N***a seventeen doin' twenty, said it ain't so bad (Nah)
Nah, homie, why your face look mad? (I'm good, big bro)
I'll be home by the time I'm thirty-five, just keep the name alive, post my Instagram and Facebook tag
Keep the manuscript
Cashmere sweater, Casa' trench lookin' glamorous
Fashion show with Naomi Campbell, smellin' like cannabis (Woo)
These bars hit like Stipe Miocic with the hammerfist (Woo)
I gave these n***as verses for free, I'm a philanthropist (Ha)
A lot of ice, I call it trophies on my hand and wrist
On May drinkin' a big bottle, fuckin' up my pancreas (Hahaha)
Prada hoodie, pole on my hip, I got my Miami bitch
It always been my plan to get rich (Woo)
Look, I hate when I don't get the credit for
Bein' a God, I raised the bar and elevated the level for
How to measure how you structure your metaphors (Talk to 'em)
So suck my dick, like I said before
The bully vest level four (Ah)
Yeah
Look
[Chorus]
Been a shooter, you can look it up (Look it up)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Spit in that pot)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Okay)
Been a shooter, you can look me up (Shooter, n***a)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Uh-huh)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up (Talk to 'em)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up

[Verse 2]
Look, that lil' n***a learned the thirty-six'll get you what you want (Huh?)
And he start sellin' cracks to his uncle and his aunts
Them old n***as tried runnin' down on him like shit was cool
Wrong, he shot two n***as, then he went to school
Don't post my n***as on the 'Gram, them n***as really kill
They ain't on the internet, them n***as really in the field (Facts)
Them rappers so emotional, they in they feelings still (Ha)
I'm the king and I don't really give a fuck how n***as feel (Fuck them n***as)
You know, in the hood, them bitches runnin' through the crew (Huh?)
Homie said he was burning, damn, that bitch burnt me too (Damn)
I gotta take these pills for seven days and I'll be straight (Yeah)
Next time I see that bum bitch, I might spit in her face (Come here, bitch)
I got a call today, my bro beat his other case (Woo)
That mean he comin' home, parole gon' have to reinstate (Yeah)
Ain't drinkin' brown tonight, I'm only fuckin' with this H (I'm on this H)
Gun right by my bed when I'm sleepin', so I feel safe (I got it near me)
Them n***as talk that street shit real good when they in the studio
But who they foolin' though? We know you ain't never shoot before (You never shot nothin')
Brick money in the trunk, watchin' for the troopers though
Paint on my sweats, 40s on at KidSuper show (Talk to 'em)
Yeah, my Atlanta n***as call it brick fare
Plain presidential gold Rollie, bitch, I'm Ric Flair (Woo)
Machine back, yeah
[Chorus]
Been a shooter, you can look me up (Go look me up)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Spit in the pot)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up (Yo)
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (Real gangster shit, n***a)
Been a shooter, you can look me up
He spit in the pot before he cook it up (You know I'ma provide that)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up (You know what I mean?)
Spit in the pot before he cook it up (Machine, n***a, who else but me?)

[Outro]
Yeah, Machine back
Y'all n***as still look dirty and broke