Yeah i I think I may have to take it
Back to like, like 10 years ago, you know?
The Big Meech Era, you feel me?
Real, real motivation for a street nigga
Real, real motivation for a street nigga, ugh
Pull up in all color Ferraris
Bitches in tiaras
Gettin' head while I'm steering
Everybody else starving
Everybody else staring
Shawty got the McLaren and I had the seven
Pulled up at the compound
Clothes smellin' like gunpowder (boom)
Salute all the real niggas and real
Bitches that got they own boss
I was snappin' before Fabo
My raps come with a halo
Went out with Jeezy, we spent pesos like J-bo
Took E’s to the Twenty Grande
He got a pistol on him and twenty grand
A couple things I ain't glorifying is the
Kids dying and the mommas dying (Scarface)
Everybody need to calm down
Stand right by your homie's side
Gunshots in this motherfucker turn this
Bitch into a homie-side (yeah)
Over a million sold they
Say I'm crossin' over
Oh yeah, the club packed
I should’ve brought a rubber
My whole body inked, my family hardly know me
You know I put that work in
Just to get a Rollie (I did)
Big Meech era, Japanese Dinner
Trap in these denim (damn)
Ain't stuntin' these women (naaa)
Wood grain steering wheel
I might get a splinter
If this a flexing contest I
Think we found a winner
Put this shit down, that shit still burnin'
I can smell that moon rock
I got to tell you how that shit started
(real real motivation for a street nigga)
(real, real, real, real, real, real, real)
Trapping off the court, on the back porch
(I did)
Had that pack ordered, we was backed up
(we was nigga)
That's that good shit, that’s that hood shit
(we hood)
You a cute bitch, and your crew thick
(I like)
Got a chopper on me the size of pool stick
(this long)
With a Blue DaVinci, dog food bricks (Heroin)
Snowman on repeat, rest in peace, Nando
I see Jigg in here I see Quazy too
When brawl wit'you we send
Them bottles through
We send the marters through
I'm on the Carter 2
Like Tyrese was on the Marta, too
They start calling too
Startin' falling through
Got them chickens boy, like a barbecue
(tell em)
Talk to lame niggas something we hardly do
I sip the PJ bottle I rock the AP on them
(okay)
I think my rollie harder this an AG party
Over a million sold they
Say I'm crossin' over
Oh yeah, the club packed
I should’ve brought a rubber
My whole body inked, family hardly know me
You know I put that work in
Just to get a Rollie
Big Meech era, Japanese Dinner
Trap in these denim trap in these denim
Ain't stuntin' these women
Wood grain steering wheel
I might get a splinter
If this a flexing contest I
Think we found a winner
I think we found a winner uh oh
Flexing contest I think we found a winner
Pull up in some shorts, middle of December
Flex, ooh
