[Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs]
50 dollar fingertips, 100 dollar thumbs
I break my shit down and make sure I bag up all the crumbs
Up in the steamer, hella smokey with a couple guns
They pull us over, we gon' park this bitch and dump and run
Hundred drums, leave n***as wasted for insufficient funds
Waiting at your place for you, playing Playstation with your son
I know your wife; on Thursday nights my aunty do her hair
Don't make me turn this shit into a family affair
Not impressed by most of the shit that most of these n***as spitting
When n***as drop, these interviewers ask me, do I feel 'em
But if you fuck with Gangsta Gibbs then you know the business
Fuck the rap game and all the pussy n***as in it
Bitch im still pitching, I flip at a steady pace
They ain't come back for the 'caine, they came back for the base
And new n***as get jacked for living lame
Cells in my brain get flamed, my name manifests pain

All I do is write verses and wrap a rubberband
Roll a '84 and roll up a wood in my other hand
And I fuck with felons, don't fuck with the FEDs
They know I'm selling something, ain't nobody selling CDs
Another trick up my sleeve, another bitch that I'm sticking
Introduced her to sniffing and dick in different positions
Got introduced to some friends and zip out the zip, I was flippish
Your daughter sniffing a Vick today, she need intervention
That's some cold shit
Fred, you must've been smoking water when you wrote this
Now I'm in Brooklyn, back from Gary fresh off a dope flip
Do the speed limit, keep it pushing, and never smoke shit
Called up Dominican H and told him I was posted
Babyface...