[Intro]
Zaytoven
What's up Zay?
Uh, this how n***as live and shit
I just be tellin' what n***as be goin' through

[Verse 1]
I got a real low number on some pure weight
The feds out early so we movin' late
Thirty bands on the lawyer, I went through a case
And them Glocks they paranoia, they go through ya face
These n***as wearing aluminum fool, all their jewelry fake
And I wore two condoms, bitch you can't be late
When that .223 hit, gotta get amputated
These rappers fakin' and man these n***as livin' in they imaginations
If you a rate must get exterminated, I'm stocked up like the terminator
Bitch say she never fuck, fuck her you'll be burnin' later
Dirty bitches, I don't want 'em, I'm only worried 'bout the paper
Bitch, see you later, send tips like you a waiter
Every bullet count, not one get wasted

[Chorus]
We throwin' it up, we got all the gas and the guns
All this weight on my back, man it feel like a ton
I'm 20 years old with two sons
If you the game, we gon' hunt
We done bought us Saint Laurent
Bullets eat him like he lunch
Shooters posted in the back and the front
Cook a lot of yola, if I do not know you
Murder game, sick, ebola
I'm workin' like a motor
Sewed up, I got it sewed up
I make the trap blow up
I got the streets sewed up
[Verse 2]
I make the trap blow up
Heroin blow your arms up
I just picked the bomb up
Work so good, you need to get you one
Get you one then flip you one
Money come, decisions come
Should I spare 'em, should I kill 'em
And I'ma kill 'em, that n***a done
Put that bread on his head, that n***a done
I could finesse the panties off a nun
I might finesse a n***a just for nothin'
Sold out from the suburbs to the slums
Dick in her throat, watch the bitch hum
Largo Road where I'm from
Before I leave the house, bitch I load the drum
Ain't tryna get no money, you a bum

[Chorus]
We throwin' it up, we got all the gas and the guns
All this weight on my back, man it feel like a ton
I'm 20 years old with two sons
If you the game, we gon' hunt
We done bought us Saint Laurent
Bullets eat him like he lunch
Shooters posted in the back and the front
Cook a lot of yola, if I do not know you
Murder game, sick, ebola
I'm workin' like a motor
Sewed up, I got it sewed up
I make the trap blow up
I got the streets sewed up (bitch)