I got a intergangstress who argue and steams the reefer
And who flip when I call a bytch like she Queen Latifah
Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper
This shyt can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
We slidin through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus
Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna fukk us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas
I'll sick rottweiler's on you fukkas, cops followin to cuff us
Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros
When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero
I'ma break before I lay floor buried
Besides, every rapper ain't a star, n every plad ain't Burburry
You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen
You changin the channel looks like I'm playin the game boy
I know to watch botherin ya vision
You reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion
Why party wit a pigeon?
I'm blowin a 10 cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison
I'm in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare nikkas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
And there aint problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more isles than pathmart
jay has never rhymed like this in his life ever