[Produced by Roc Marciano]

[Hook]
I can feel it when the wind blow
In the Benzo hangin' out the window
You know n***a how the shit goes
Get a hundred from the hip bone

[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
True G's, boots and army fatigues
N***as cooped up in the P's like sardines
Ain't no palm trees, and this ain't R and B
We sippin Dom P listenin' to Ron G
N***a we rep the far east, spark the beef like a cookout
It won't digest correct, no di-doubt
I put my foot down in any event and kick a dent
Then stick a pen in your blimp, now witness the strength
Til I whip in a bent, my dogs gon' pick up a scent
And this isn't French, but n***as have to kiss the ring
And momma said there would be days like this
And if pussy taste like fish don't give her no dick
Clock a grip, watch a clip, friends and biz don't mix
And the big gold ring got the Flintstone bling
Wrist glow pink gold fat like the disco three
For real it's like my shit don't stink
[Hook]
It was a panic at the disco
Thirty two shots yeah that's what the clip hold
I could feel it when the wind blow
In the Benzo hangin' out the window

[Verse 2: Roc Marciano]
Well it's the creme de la creme, put me on a scale of one to ten
Friend, I'm the bomb with a short stem
It's on again, you'll be gone with the wind
Tryin' to come at me crooked you'll get caught in the end
It's important to win cuz raw is for men
Not boys and girls and tricks are for kids
I got you like a jigsaw dig
The hoes I'm like Fillmore Slim
Must I reveal more sin, and peel caps back like raw skin
I kick doors in, and hip toss n***as like kids
Plus I'm light skinded like Prince, ready to let the Mac 10 rinse
As I sat behind the black tints, Califat the mack that's him
The rap crack kingpin the grim
The Max Payne grin the slave ships
N***as ain't shit they gave in

[Hook]
It was a panic at the disco
Thirty two shots yeah that's what the clip hold
I could feel it when the wind blow
In the Benzo hangin' out the window
If you ain't know this is how the shit go
N***a we shootin' from the hip bone
With the pistol stickin' up the rich folk
Panic at the disco
[Verse 3: Roc Marciano]
Steel cage match, peel waves back
Reveal a eight pack black, gangster mack
Had a suitcase crack, ASAP get aimed at
Hardbody never came fat, grey Ac
Cocaine rap, my way up in a Maybach mat and lay back
Lemonade glass, spank ass, and put crack on the ave
N***a I'm stackin that cash, but who knew it would happen that fast
And cats ain't addin' up the math, but came back clappin' at your pad
Just for rappin' that bad, and no way you should get a hood pass
For kickin' that bullshit, and brag
And act like I can't see that that's flab
We can't collab with that crab
N***as ain't G, they lack swag
So I got to bring the black mag and dead pop three in your fat ass

[Hook]
It was a panic at the disco
Thirty two shots yeah that's what the clip hold
I could feel it when the wind blow
In the Benzo hangin' out the window
If you ain't know this is how the shit go
N***a we shootin' from the hip bone
With the pistol stickin' up the rich folk
Panic at the disco