Whoa, yeah
Whoa, yeah
Whoa, yeah, whoa
If you crossed me and you ain't dead, you better thank God
I love Johnny to death, that's why I named my son Shaad
Ain't too many **** left on the East Side that I ain't robbed
I wake up and hustle every day 'cause I done felt starved
When I was young, we stole candy, now it's homicide
On the way to splat some shit, and I caught butterflies
Streets murdered all my ****, and I'm traumatized
That's why I'm killin' all yo' ****, I can't spare nobody
Oh, you think I'm pussy 'cause I rap, huh?
You want me to leave yo' brains in yo' lap, huh?
Yo' bitch say she love my music 'cause I snap, huh?
You get mad, you picture me hittin' her from the back, huh?
Screamin', "Free him," and you know your brother a rat, huh?
Y'all gon' break and bend the G-code for them racks, huh?
I been lettin' shit slide, now I'm amped up
Everybody wanna shoot, we had to lap up
I refuse to argue with ****, I'd rather blick 'em
I refuse to re-up with ****, I'd rather strip 'em
I ain't seen yo' bitch in a minute, she gettin' thicker
I told her, "Please don't suck on my tip 'cause that shit tickle"
My youngin' lost his brother, he ain't talkin', and I feel him
I seen it in his eyes, he just wanna shoot his pistol
You say you with this gangsta shit, but ****, that come with it
The choppa in my room by the bed, lil' bruh, go get it
Way before the rap lines, used to clap mine
Leave his ass flatlined, yeah, I'm on that time
**** get they chain snatched, they never snatched mine
Crucial, where the percs at? I need a halftime

Writer(s): Shéyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Ozan Yildirim & Jacob Reske.