| Uh, yeah, the Butcher coming, nigga
|
| I walk in the room, niggas can feel that pressure when I walk in, nigga
|
| Like you saw the devil, yo, look
|
| I was born in '84, but I’m like '97 Hov
|
| I went platinum off a brick, I cooked on 97 stoves
|
| Yeah, I know the streets is watching so I’m highly skeptical
|
| Where I’m at in my career, one hit and I’ll be set to go, uh
|
| Duct tape for the blocks, black tape for the strap
|
| Bentley in the parking lot, ashtray full of pack
|
| Had dreams of retiring and burying the money
|
| Back when I was young with more experience than money
|
| On my Georgetown shit, rock the blue Hoya
|
| When they snatched my niggas up, I got a new lawyer
|
| They start off young so they shoot for you, I groom ‘em
|
| Soon they become their own bosses and recruit for you
|
| It’s not a such thing as too loyal
|
| This gat melt your favorite rapper Patek into a pool for you
|
| You think you nice, well, I got news for you
|
| I get ‘em chewed for you, what’s funny when every rapper food to you
|
| My bitch asking me to settle down
|
| I was reckless at selling brown, she know I’m finally on level ground
|
| I’m tryna change, but in my head it’s sounds
|
| Telling me I can be El Chapo instead of Kevin Liles
|
| Freestyle for Clue, I feel like '97 Hov
|
| It was '96, he pulled up in that '97 Rov', uh
|
| Drove it back and forth, done went through 97 tolls
|
| Real stories ‘bout drug money got me etched in stone, uh
|
| By the time they learn to love me, I’ll be dead and gone
|
| Real hustlers treat them rentals like they second home
|
| First double up, thirty dollars, seven stones
|
| Yeah, I fucked it up, but that whole play set the tone
|
| You real angry
|
| You know why I’m mad? |
| Let me tell you why I’m mad
|
| I’m mad because everybody on these records lying
|
| Everybody’s lying, everybody’s this big D-boy
|
| Everybody’s these hardcore gangsters
|
| Everybody gon' do this to each other when they see each other
|
| And truth be told, we too blessed, and we having too much money
|
| In this rap game to be going to war with each other
|
| Right, okay
|
| And the truth be told, don’t nobody wanna fight nobody in this rap game
|
| ‘Cause 98% of these dudes is cowards
|
| Check, one, two
|
| The butcher coming, nigga
|
| Brr, let’s go
|
| We pull up, jumping out them V12 engines, detail kitted
|
| Females with us, the hoes driving like it ain’t got no seat belts in it
|
| Uh huh, woo, yeah
|
| That’s it right there, yo, uh
|
| We pull up, jumping out them V12 engines, detail kitted
|
| Females with us, the hoes driving like it ain’t got no seat belts in it
|
| The block look like it got seashells in it
|
| The beam on the SIG flashing like it got an unread email in it
|
| They try their best to stop us, we still winning
|
| I run the shit in my Versace, chain reactions 'til my feet swell in ‘em
|
| Gold digger, deep pussy, I park the CL in it
|
| Never pay for pussy, just pay for meals just to be fair with her
|
| I hit the breaks, but wait, the light ‘bout to change
|
| Realizing what I’m driving and how my life ‘bout to change
|
| When I die, go to TV Johnny and ice out the grave
|
| I make these bitches sign contracts and write out they names
|
| Shit, I learned from how Juanita tricked Mike out his change
|
| Huh, my ex shed, I still ain’t get the lights out her name
|
| The Feds want the whole BSF, wiped out the game
|
| ‘Cause what the grams cost, I been getting twice out in Maine
|
| My watch look like a lighthouse, that’s right, I’ll explain
|
| Blue faces, and I ain’t have ‘em bring the price down to pay
|
| I had some young niggas slide through with pipes ‘round your way
|
| Have ‘em posted up with sticks like it’s a strike ‘round your way
|
| Uh, you can only judge me by who you see me with
|
| I turned a deuce to a six, did Houdini tricks
|
| Tell these niggas keep my name out they greedy lips, uh
|
| ‘Cause they don’t want no static with Griselda by Fashion Rebels
|
| The Butcher, nigga |