Niggas threw the tough guy thing, but the streets know
Then they tryna front on my city like we ain't cooking dope
Murders on the tv screens, what's it good for?
Price tag on my back, what's it hitting for?
Murder rate rising nigga, over multiplying digits
Thought that was your mans until he went and testified against you
All my niggas co-defendents, all my bitches independent
Realest nigga of the century, whip sitting on twenty inches
Had to get it from the trenches
Give it to my home, nigga
How you sending statements to the States
From jawns that I pooped on
I splash now I sing songs
Hit 'em with the pole and make the bed rock
Hit 'em with the soda, make it lead lock
I remember we was kicking verses
Used to dream of rocking stages, nigga, we was stealing purses
Now I was talking to my mother one day
"Boy there are two kinds of people in this world:
The type of people that look, and the type of people that see
Now everybody that sees is looking, but you can't see without looking
But everybody that looks can't see
And you gotta see, 'cause you gotta see the plays
You gotta make the plays boy
You gotta make the plays well
You gotta make the plays 'cause
The plays ain't gon' make themselves
Feets with the ziplock bags
The fiend for the shoe box cash
And I fronted your mans that was the past opp
The click blast in front of your mans
Boosting up the crime rate
You ain't getting money unless you see that shit in five states
I'm getting to it nine ways
I stacking all my hundreds 'till they taller than Le-
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Lyrics © Ultra Tunes, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Reservoir Media Management, Inc.