I'm the son of a saint, still consider the sinner Three rings on his finger, yeah that boy was a winner Never known as a singer, but this might be a single Always bet on your homies, then go bat a casino Ball is my passion, check my stats if they askin' Shorty checkin' my page, she follow my fashion My life is a film, and Gab's the lead She's so precious to me, as the edit I breathe Time to fuel up the jet, D-Way jersey to drip Lamborghinis to match, got three G's on the strip These haters beneath us, as I'm lacing my sneakers Season 16, Lamborghinis and Ninis I'm shootin' my shot, every card that I cop Every record I break, every rock in my watch Every step that I take, still won't stop no mistakes I'm talkin' major league, never minimum wage So proud to be niggas, the descendant of a slave Motocade, serval Mercedes, so get out my way Tangerine, still in my slippers, still twistin' up dank Cheddar tear for all my homies, black boy in the gates Let's find a masseuse, then inspire the youth If it's best for the hood, then let's call it a truce My chains get tangled, these niggas be hateful My momma still prayin', so really I'm grateful I'm still here, looking through the window Watching the days go by, watching the sun rise Why don't you try? I'm still here, looking through the window Watching the days go by, watching the sun rise Why don't you try? I promised to pray for a positive fate Had the world in your palms, but he called him a case Cheddar tear in the court, he got boxed in the crate Then they shook him up north, mom just sat in the days The bottles on ice, the models be nice We call it rent-and-shoot, any problems tonight? Serve him like Boris Becker, I want 200 checkers So if they wanna slow our records, they just wanna feck us Take my boys to Mecca, all my niggas blessed Smokin' with my dogs, you can smell the relish They try to give me hell, I bet I get to heaven I stay away from 12, I'm such a gifted felon I'm seated on the floor, she can see the loafers Showin' love to the season ticket holders Showin' love to the season ticket holders Showin' love to the season ticket holders We do this for the city, you. What? The whole city. I'm still here, looking through the window Watching the days go by Watching the sun rise, why don't you try? I'm still here, looking through the window Watching the days go by Now how's it feel to hold you up here? How's it feel? Yeah, it feel great, baby. I ain't been to South Beach until I got an NBA, I just want you to know that, my boy. And listen, we put on for the city. 16 years, 5 finals, 3 rings. We put those trophies over our head. We put on for the... Man, let me calm down, man, ***. When I say something up in this booth. When I say something up in this booth, man. Who is the mother***ing Mr. 305? Nigga, do what you do. Nigga, I got my own county. Listen, the love in this city has been crazy, man. I appreciate it, dog. Thank you for giving me my own county. I told these niggas, man, you got the beats. I got cross that bridge. Can't play with us, man. Can't do nothing around here, boy. Hey, Ross. Man, ain't nothing but love, baby. Big homie, you know what it is. Always. Still with the shits. 3 rings later, though.