[Verse 1]
Uh homie, you don't really want me to shine
Like Boston George, ain't wanna give up his connect to Diego
You the type of n***a that wanna come up, but want me to stay low
The day I leave this bitch in a body bag, is what you pray fo'
But I'm still living and ya'll haters get mo' mad, with every breath I take
Sometime I might spill a n***a, but J. Prince clean up every mess I make
So like my quicker picker upper, that's my Bounty n***a
My piss dirty but I ain't smoke, just weed in my brownies n***a
You don't wanna run up on me, I'm riding with that big gun
My fifty caliber shoot so far, I call that bitch my Vince Young
If it's really time to merk you homie, I ain't gon need a rehearsal homie
Cause it ain't gon be a commercial homie, it's sex money and murder homie

[Hook]
Call me Vince Young homie, I got quarterback vision
I can see the 5-0's, when they blitzing
I see stick up kids, targeting Z-Ro for the sticky
So it's pistols in every room, every bathroom and both kitchens
Better go long homie, cause you know I throw long homie
But, you don't wanna catch this pass
Touchdown for the S.U.C., we soldiers united for cash
Touchdown like Reggie Bush on a break away, who gon catch my ass
I don't know nobody that fast, whoo

[Verse 2]
I'm feeling so Pimp C right now, call me Ro-Chad (Bitch!)
Yeah your diamonds shine but not like mine, homie that's your bad
I ain't even a materialistic guy, I don't love money
But you might think I do cause I'll murder you, if you try to take some from me
Look at you now, you can't even have an open casket you dumb dummy
And I sleep real good every night, cause ain't none of the bullets come from me
So don't make me Floyd Mayweather Jr. your ass
Like I was 147 pounds, one hundred AK-47 rounds sit down
I'm official, like a referee whistling tougher than bone gristle
Put so much lead in your ass, you can be your own pencil
Z-Ro the Crooked King of the Ghetto, yeah homie that's my name
And I'm healthy as a motherfucker, with seventy carats up in my chain
[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Now I ain't never been to 106th & Park, and sat on the couch
But I'm a legend in this rap, in the South (ah-choo)
Excuse me I'm allergic to bitch n***as, I'm bitch n***as intolerant
So my stomach cramp up, whenever I run into bitch n***as
I'm rolling in my Kobe Bryant, on top of Deuce MacCallister's
I'm always in a fo' do', but I ain't never got no passengers
Good weed good drank, big money mayne
I don't get along with ya'll fellas, but I get money mayn
Most of the rappers in my city, wanna see me flop
Cause when I came back home from jail, that's when all they shows stopped
I got quarterback vision, I ain't never been sacked
And I don't walk with fifty n***as either
How you love that

[Hook]