Spittin' act, G Talk for niggas who gang bang Niggas who drug slang, lettin' they nuts hang Who the fuck you think you fuckin' with? Fuck around, you gettin' fuckin' hit Who the fuck you think you fuckin' with? Fuck around, you gettin' fuckin' hit Yo, I don't got a sports car cause I don't speak I'm Gucci in the hood, got whatever you need I'm more the type to sit in the back Tell my driver where to go as I'm countin' the stack Sayin' prayers on the stairs, hope we makin' it back Defacated, dedicated, what I'm sayin' is fact I speak from the perspective of a live one If you need a new plan, I could provide one Get bread from York College blocks to Yorkville Your niggas eatin' pork still, nigga we off swill Three pounds of gold in the cold, I'm warm If you ask about me, then you'll be told I'm on It's like I can't miss a jump shot, coordinate Critical cake, we at the jump spot Sunblock give it to the haters, we the natives Cartier, chiseled in bricks, we doin' favors You ain't never been bout that, ever Spin out back, circle blocks five times Deeply involved details, I speak live rhymes Later than Jamaica's spot, usually repeat couple thousand in my pocket, we emerge from the sea Oceanic panic, granite first ceramic Bitch, niggas can't stand it when they see us swerve Steamed cabbage off the hood while we parked on the curb, beloved Beloved