Lyrics
I’m your highness, your highest title, numero uno
Putos, they clone chulo like Naruto
Your man super, grand groover on that Sambuca
Mass mover, automatic rap Ruger
Clap back, I bleed for my brother
You know, the wolves stay fed cause they feed on each other
I got a G for a mother
Cynthia’s son, take the game like three at the buzzer
Harder than the prison wall, hitting y’all all
Up in critical condition it’s official when my clique involved
Listen y’all, Sir I certified
Anything other than the facts are falsified
They idolize I, well i know wise guys, leave em eyes wide
Inside the gravel pit, spitting cyanide
Darts flash, hot enough to warp glass
When the shark pass, piranhas park
I’m kinda swole, cause everything I want I got made
I never feared, got everything from choppers to blades
They gave me rags and all of them they knew I want haze
When I was spliffing that night, me and the with K’s
Some kids across town thought I was amazed
Knew I was fronting, I had the army in range
It’s most of us popping pains, selling drugs in the rain
Trynna make money, maintain and build me a train
Deal with facts only, no slang, that’s only for dames
We will run up in the building tags and niggas with chains
Rocking range, lock and aim, take your sneakers and chain
Leave em snubbed, outta luck, you shoulda bought you your flames
But you didn’t, this could happen to a king or a queen
Be on point next time and don’t be bringing no lames
Cause if you fuck up the next time it might make you famous
Might bump into a gunman who only want brains and shit
I’m talented, yes I’m gifted
Never boosted, never shoplifted
I get the cash, see money over tricks and
But keep a snow bunny in the kitchen
The hood still love cause I’m different, see that’s the difference
I talk greasy, my hands greasy, that’s the chicken
It’s that easy, my flow phat cause I’m that greedy
You got to feed me in stacks, what up to Crakk Peedi
State property, racially profiled
State trooper stopping me, I’m low down
Dirty it’s a shame, I should slow down
Kick off my shoes, put my coat down
Separate the oil from the coke now
Pennies I got plenty and I still want more
Kinda like a Beamer '35 I still want four
85% still don’t know
That is a hundred percent and y’all rappers tryna steal my flow
I got a name from everything from con to Sway
I got my row stitched up by a Colombian name
I got a crack spot, a G5 I never flown
I got a shark, a dog with a solid gold bone
I even copped me a piece of mind up in the Buddhist mountains
I don’t sweat money, I got ten accountants
With fly bitches butt naked in Bermuda
And buddha, ice cooler, Grey Goose and big Ruger
The fact is, I pose for low in Gazelle glasses
The booth Ted Dibiase just tripled the carats
And you can tell by the style I choose
I’m creatively superior, I rhyme over the blues
Never lose, never lost, neck chills in the frost
I got a whole clan and Tonetana’s the boss
I get paid when my record is played
To put it short: I got it made
