Yo. .
I’m ready for everything i ever wanted, word to my mother
Some of this shit i’ve seen in my life you couldn’t stomach
Shots ringing off in the projects and niggas running
Some turn around and dump it, the hammer loaded, we fuck with . .
Any nigga get in the way, he gone die, that’s word to everything that you pray
There’s a grave ,probably outside with your name, i’ll let it spray, if you get in the way
Of anyway a nigga like me tryna get paid
I’m from the bottom of the bottom, remember the projects like yesterday
Friends i lost, bodies got caught, hustles like myself got the work, it got bought
I remember when i ain’t have enough money to cop it, so consignment was the only way i was taught
So, keep it flipping, get a bird, go ahead, throw it back
Get another, cop the work, go ahead, throw it back
Nine years old, i was outside, hustling crack
All i wished for was a pair of jordans, what the fuck was that?
What was on my mind? i found a way to grind
This is my truth that i lived in my rhymes
I don’t regret nothing that came at the time, that rolex watch fucking changed my life
Opened my mind twice, to the possibilities
To fiflthy, money coming for the jewelry
And now with many men, it came many me’s
With foreign cars in the hood, it came many v’s
This is what we wanted, keep it a hundred
The gun near my stomach, bullets in the clip that i’m clutching
What? who don’t want the lifestyle and want to live like a hustler
I was a struggle, so in the kitchen i let a bubble
‘cause i just wanted the wristwatch, the rollie for youngings, man
Niggas don’t understand how my friends i’ve lost
Family members got locked up, and cases never got tossed
We had money for a watch but not an attorney
Nobody told us to cop retainer, instead of jewelry
The risk we took, the bodies that got hit
The friends that got lost, the work that got copped
The hammers that got gripped, we're all on the night shift
We out here for real hustles, i’m tryna do heavy pitches
Niggas been moving and working with smith and in my position
Working, in and out of the kitchen, and we whipping
Pyrex for propper position, smith and, tucked in my waistline
In case a nigga wanna try to come and get me
I ain’t gonan die, nigga, so come and get me
Them tears in my face, crying
Fiends that i served that had the songs like bobby and whitney
Bald head bitches that i used to hit up like brittney
With the coke with me . .
Whipping position, that pyrex, i kept, right, in the goddamn kitchen
It’s either that, or sleep on the floor
I ain’t going back outside no more
So i’ma serve your grandmother, your sister, your brother, your damn cousin