| Fuck you niggas know about a crammed cell |
| Working out, doing pushups, getting fan mail |
| How you get knocked, do time and tell |
| They gave my celly ten years for a gram sale |
| My next case, I’m spitting on a judge, Imma wild in court |
| Slide on us, I bet you paying for it, like child support |
| Got classy bitches, she don’t smile at all, she don’t vibe at all |
| And nasty bitches, who’ll rob us all and sniff a pile of raw |
| El Salvador, bricks of powder raw stuffed inside the doors |
| I’m grinding hard, promised all my dogs still behind the wall |
| I took a trip buying white trying to find the raw |
| Just to sell china white to a chyna doll |
| When we met we was on the cell block cold |
| We did our time and came home and sold blocks whole |
| My first brick |
| My neighbourhood filthy, Eastside built me |
| The plug said I’m good, the judge said I’m guilty |
| My first brick nigga |