Yo there hiding fam, that's what they're telling us I've been everywhere in fuckin' Stokey like I'm Elanor Fam, I've got a million stones all pebbled up The star will tan you like a month in America Fam I move different Two parties, quarter ten bags on liquor Yo fam, I really get scrilla Nine fifth on the bobs and the dubz is all cheap like Bicester Fam I got the catties bellin Because my foods penger than Halle Berry Fam, he's brought a bag, and he's coming for a bag already I just blew a bag, and made it all back already Fam, I'm certified and everybody knows If I'm about to touch a nigga, acting you like don't See me I phone Ty and get Dutch on the phone Niggas talkin real greazy and hes really gotta go Yo, fuck club nineteen, black gloves and a mask on a club ninety There's like 15 bells in my gloc nineteen Your gonna go dead before I see real Fam, fuckin holmes I'm rate in the ends Peng dubz, Ima hit em up eight bills a Z And if its seven, take it straight back to them Cause I ain't fuckin round with nuttin unless its eight out of ten Yo, and you know your boy gets payed I got my license, and brought my whip the next day Came out of the carwarsh with my nigga Flash And now my holmes lookin like a template And no one got stripped on some long train cause I was getting shift when I bust his face cause And if you don't believe me go read the fuckin papers Yo, Matthew Go away Go away What you sayin Go away, Go away Being my soldier, I can make you mash quick I get that creamy bizzle lookin latin Fiends keep calling for the dubz, cause my cracks piff Now lemme go back in Yo, because he got a bag or two, thinkin that he mad payed My home boy, you ain't no where on my gangs wave You see that one bag or two, ask Frogz I spent all of that on champagne You know Rimz, no flash, niggas boasy Stacks buying like a hundred of them stoneys I phone my boo like I'm needing a break Then I phone a jezzy like I'm needing some brain Yo, even though I grind tryna see papes Fam, I'm never to busy for some mean brain Yo, lemme change my aspa of the whole phrase Get in your head nigga, really that is no point Yeah he's got gucci and true religion jeans My lines outing more than three Zs in a week Yo, anything I spit you know I mean that Fam, I rust more than three bags And fam, you talk about designers like that's all there is I wannt a yard, I'm tryna jump on this morgage ting Yo, yo, I just don't talk the tings Fam I really live this life come and walk with Rimz Too much fed, I've gotta be cautious And on the other hand, streets be talkin And you can't talk to man about food Fam I bag up two Zs fuckin sleepwalkin See when the drought came fuckin up the ends See I was the only nigga with nine out of ten Connects all hittin man, a bag for a Z I'm sending that back if that foods comin pressed Yo I don't understand thousands of man Talkin like they beat of thousands of straps When they ain't even got a thousand in cash Hows that possible niggas lying in their raps