[Verse 1]
Now everybody wanna smoke blunts wit’ you
Pop bottles with smiles and have lunch wit’ you
No, you don’t even fuckin’ know what they want wit’ you
A drug issue, these n***as fake the funk wit’ you
They always come around when the albums is comin’ out
They know where to be found when them thousands runnin’ out
I put in [?] work way before we got the paper
Rather be a [?] than a fuckin’ [?]
Slavin’ like your name is Kunta ‘fore a second days work
Truth [?] stars come a diamond dozen
And when you get up, everybody wanna be your cousin
Your friends become your fam and your fam become your friends
He claimin’ he your man and he demandin’ all your Tims
I want for my brother what I want for myself
But I ain’t fuckin’ with this n***a ‘cause it’s bad for my health
‘Cause it’s bad for my health (bad for my health)

[Verse 2]
(Grunt)
I’m tryna get this paper, I’m tryna cop an acre
[?] in Jamaica
I’m tryna take it further, I hate to make you murda
I told your honor it was drama he was made to [?]
You n***as make me nervous
My work is made to service
I keep my body numb, spittin’ like a Tommy gun
Trouble, I find me some, now I must rewind [?]
Problems I want ‘em none, bids I want ‘em one and done
I’m in the livin’ sun, shinin’ while you gettin’ dumb
I’m tryna get a ton, now you wanna get a gun
I make it work on your block near the [?] spot
I make the earth hot, all up on my turf ock
I’m representin’ two-one-fifth ‘cause that’s my birth spot
But you forgettin’ my position on this earth ock
M-illa-tant [?] on your worst block
Comin’ at your neck, gimmie respect that Church got