Man I spit my game at a mile a minute I got a dope ass watch with no diamonds in it I like to sway back and fourth like a jesus piece And I’m Harlem Nights ready like Della Reese What you tell that freak? It’s a quarter to 8 I'm at Tad’s takin down this t-bone steak I'm from the B-A-Y A-R-E-A Fillmoe, God-Khan, Nicky, Andre I probably said it before/ Yo, squares beware That debonair, savoir faire in the air I got Air Forces 1s god, I keep em untied I’m married to the game, never see the bride You look into my eyes it got the color of a sticker They get a little bloodshot when I hit liquor My timex ticker is tickin' It keep me up nights I can't help but listen I bust with destruction, at any little function You can say something, I don’t wanna hear nothing Keep it all coming, guns keep gunnin' The crack game changed but dope fiends hit the oven My life line's in the picture frame A lost soul tryna find home again Yo my Billy Holliday characteristics Pushes me towards the dope that I have to get with My Timex is the ticker It's like a track meet, girl you gotta get quicker Gotta get quicker, gotta get quicker Gotta get quicker