Get on the * ground.Back at it, no crack at it, ho.Y'all know what the * going on.Back though, flow part three, nigga.We in this bitch, nigga.Oh, my, my.* decent as hell.Bitch, I'm back though, a.k.a. the biggest P.Main and *, the back though, flow, but this right here, the chapter three.Bitch, I'm 9'9", 2212, I'm from Tenneke.When I hop out with this drum, I turn this bitch in to take heat.Scratch that, boy, this Glee gon' have a rhythm, make me drop a beat.Niggas thinkin' that they gangsta till they see me in they fleet.Niggas actin' like they paid, but got a problem with a fee.Long live the Justin, roll a dot, especially DP.Long live my Uncle John, that * had hurt my dignity.I damn near done seen it all, so what you think I did to me?This boy stock up on his chalk, gon' put your kidney by your feet.We Miami in 2010, the way we locked in with the heat.I can tell the way you move your hands, you never shot no blip.Niggas think they feigning for a head.Get shot up in that *.I be born to handle fire, but my whole life a oven, man.You respect the ops, so do me, or expect you like a ***.I been poppin' *, been droppin' * with these since middle school.Boy, we load up 223s and barely use 762s.I might rock a nigga's * and have him sleep out of the blue.My whole team gotta eat, bitch, that's some * that you had new.I'm a baller maker, should've took my talents to Purdue.My lil' bitch, she said, I miss you, I lock back, I miss you too.55 up in that thang, just enough to lead a few.Boy, my daddy rough.The folks, you know, his flag be black and blue.And he bangin' to the right, this * go left, I got you, fool.And they say I talk my * like Tupac, man, who shot at you?Man, them money on my mind, but my whole life the carter too.50 deep outside your residence, look like a barbecue.Chop him up, then sit him down, boy, I'm gon' do what barbers do.I was born with the sauce, and I'ma dip like Tartar too.21 shots at your head, lil' nigga tryna slaughter you.I got money on my mind, but I feel like the carter too.Got the, inside your residence, look like a barbecue.Chop him up, then sit him down, boy, I'm gon' do what barbers do.I was born with the sauce, and I'ma dip like Tartar too.21 shots at your head, lil' nigga tryna slaughter you.