I spit that other sh**
That guns and bu*ter sh**
That cooking eggs in the kitchen
That Melvin f**ing your mother sh**
That gutter sh**
That late night in the summer sh**
On the stoop getting high
Chris Tucker sh**
n***a we everywhere
You lames is never there
I got my feet on the table
Sitting in leather chairs
This that sippin' Henny out of champagne gla**
This that burn the L while sittin' in first cla**
This that old school collabin' with new school
And I broke into this old a** game with new rules
I got guys with loose screws
That shoot tools
That learned from the OGs
That shoot pool
Drinkin' a forty-ounce and puffin' a few Kools
Tellin' us who they popped
And how they moved cubes
Where I'm from, you snooze you lose
If you nap, you a wrap
Act a fool, you food
It's Brooklyn, the home of the best n***as to do it
But now rappers is trash
The game is all polluted
But I don't care ‘cause my movement is moving
And I'm still humble, gettin' money and booling
I couldn't say I was nice
I had to prove it
If I never got aggressive
They would have never knew it
They would have never listened
No haters or criticism
When they were sleep
I woke and poked them
Kicked them and pinched them
Wake up b**hes