[ Featuring Mysterious Gaines ]
What we coming like
I need the pape
Hands clean couldn't leave a trace
City on my fitted hat low couldn't see my face
Out the pack bad habit though I need a break
Rapping or trapping but I still be good either way
A sniper's aim through the scope a hundred feet away
A thousand grams in a brick what a kilo weigh
Thought they f*cking with Slikka like that'll be the day
I need my chips that's a bag full of Frito Lays
Nah we don't play every track leave 'em D.O.A.
No lies broke ties couldn't leave the game
Flash on 'em no picture that'll freeze your frame
For that money
In god we trust on Jesus name
Twisting woods out the pound we don't breath same
Still smoking got me focused on these dreams I chased
Never doubt myself
Wasn't worried about an album sale
Sixteen sold four now I'm down to twelve
Dollars on my mind
Comma signs with the decimals
They ain't represented correctly it's too accessible
But bottom line I got to shine
Keep a extra few
Let 'em loose
I did more then they expected to
Got fouled and and one scored an extra two
Count this money talk my shit what I was sent to do
Got the game in my palm how could I ever lose
Left the scene looking clean never left a clue
Put that shit on my block and I bet it move
They talk a lot but couldn't speak on what they never knew
Couldn't get clue
Slikk talking for this revenue
First week double up with a ounce for sale
A thousand Ls at the bottom where I found myself
Bussing down a bale
Bag it up smelling loud as hell
Boys on my line tossed the work never found the scale
My words a weapon keep squeezing till I'm out of shells
