I don't know where I had came in, Gus, you're gonna have to signal me. Throw them fours up then. Look, they're gonna love that. The children in my section are gonna love that. Broke bread in the trenches, look at me as it coherin'. Luca Brassi's story, skid is itchin' and hearin'. Bread wanna go fly, no kites on me, got white on me. Catchin' crank sails all night, homie. Got a smokin' system with a pipe on it, got a digital scale, critical well. Niggas watchin' for the bread team, want a steak with the baked beans. Nine million, hold up, eighteen. Insurance, eighteen. Customers, oh, eighteen. Fuckin' around with this ***, no prison sentence, escaping. Every day I'm prayin', best friends don't betray me. Young guy, really pussy, a gangster he's portrayin'. Mad cause he ain't me, yo girl ***in' with mud, look. Left jail, back to the kitchen like Martha Stewart, no cookbook. My daddy made me look good, but that's not no good, look. White jet, screechin' off, in a vault, my speakers fall. Inside city on 4th street, strapped by the crotch, horsey. Of course we, no Sam Meeker, but her life is pouring. Pouring, promethazine and a one liter of Mountain Dew. Fountain of youth, I've just discovered uncovering who I really was. In the game, I am aggressive, I'm even-handed, meaning ambidextrous. Cannon with you while you're ramblin', riches no short takin' round here. I'm a street nigga, got beef with you, touch everything in your family. My baby mama, big booty, bitch, her grandmother can't stand it. My pants on, but they saggin', *** who can't understand it. Lil' D, Aussie, and Lil' Mocha, my BGs, I'm standing. Somewhere on the corner, possibly on a summer. Caught a whiff of aromas, absorbing most of the odor. Bitch, I'm cold, I'm a soldier, remote control for the moment. They tuning in to Gates Gas Station, Boost Mobile phoning. Chiroplatin on Patronus, making her have convulsions. Look who's taking office, Kevin Gates while in office. Used to have a brain, unfortunately I lost it. I know it's got a name, but don't know what I could call it. On TV screens, stuck at home, won't need no green. Smoke a month, gon' bring me cheese. Bad bitches, she on her knees, talking about she won't do this thing. All I know is you can like Chevelle's, I blow strings up.