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