burn and get a million-five, and a tax return that be reapin up, and no keeping up with the Jonses Long live P.E. and ban Guns'n'Roses New Kids on the
s a problem, and you can't stop him [Tity Boi:] I got a buncha shit I got a buncha shit Buncha flows, buncha dough, me and a buncha hoes drop some elbows
hid the waste Need a replacement killa, hustle dope shit so I'm a drug dealer So for real-a, on point wit the nine mill-a Straight give a nigga guillotine
the child Moses A bastard in a basket, my gat spit Till the palbearers close the casket And that's it, the end of the chapter The beginnin of the next one
Wait, that's just enough for you to follow Heavyweight rap, I spit for much for you to swallow Blap, Blap, number one with a bullet Play with them guns
man with (frantic?) flows, But understand he said he knows, but he ran a deadly road, But he woke up with a family (rose?), in a land of uncanny souls