[ Featuring Harry Fraud ]
(Deep down my soul)
(Deep down my soul)
(Deep down my soul) Where we at with it, H?
(Crazy to be)
It's the Jack Lord, known for smackin' glass off the backboard
At the office with it
Quick to chalk a nigga, turn a nigga slab to a blackboard
Everything mint like a Altoid, on the Hellblock, me and Fatboy
Ten-twenty pints of the Act' in, in the trap, me and Dan Aykroyd
Street life what I been livin', gangland, get them bricks missin'
Boss Hogg of the pig pen, run with hitmen so it hit different
Hundred million on the come-out
Niggas know I'll pull this gun out
Nigga, no guts, no glory, stretch two-twenty in a four-forty
In jail, they asked me if I know Corvin, nah, I ain't into tradin' war stories
Mouth closed tight when I got picked up, spent the whole night hoodie zipped up
Back on the dyke with my stick tucked, rollin' white like a lint brush
Mama pray for me 'cause I been touched, know they waitin' on me to slip up
Nigga can't afford another hiccup, moral of the story, keep your lips shut
Now it's foreign exchange with the gang, bouncin' out with my wrist bust
Nigga still droppin' dirty except this time it's not a piss cup
Let's get it
I sold drugs to feed my peoples, not party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pole in my clutch, I never needed no guardian angel
(Deep down my soul) In the heart of the manger
(Deep down my soul) Double-parkin' that Maybach
(Deep down my soul) Still ain't talkin' to strangers
New AR with the laser (crazy to be), bitch, quit callin' me crazy
Goin' crazy, B
When you said that last time
I was kinda trippin', like
But you know what else?
I don't give a f*ck
Streets ran a facts check, OG gave me all access
Less than half brick, shit, we'll mix a nigga down, add him to the tracklist
I'm a wordsmith, favorite words is, "Thank you for your proof of purchase"
Yeah, that pussy good for a minute but the money only thing a nigga worship
Me and my niggas, we the real deal, we want all the pills still
Benz trunk full of green pints, on the Eastside, me and Trill Bill
I'm a work horse, no horse play, playin' with the work is my forte
White horse walkin' on water, they say Jesus rose on the fourth day
Now it's all praise due, all white ice in my Jesus
Black Balenciaga space boots stompin' foreign pedals when we race coupes
Cheated death with a ace deuce, most niggas in the ghetto can't shoot
Eight in my Canadian Dry, turn the cream soda to a grape juice
F*ck tryna send a beat pack, give me thirty-two for the whole thing
Thirty blues for the jean jacket, Virgil Louis with the rope strings
Courtesy of the neighborhood clucks, line layin' bricks on 'em
They call me crazy so much, mind playin' tricks on me
I sold drugs to feed my peoples, not party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pole in my clutch, I never needed no guardian angel
(Deep down my soul) In the heart of the manger
(Deep down my soul) Double-parkin' that Maybach
(Deep down my soul) Still ain't talkin' to strangers
New AR with the laser (crazy to be), bitch, quit callin' me crazy
(Bitch, quit callin' me crazy)
(Bitch, quit callin' me crazy)
(Bitch, quit callin' me crazy)
Bitch, quit callin' me crazy
