Let's say the rhythm was a gang, either on or off beat, now which set do you play in?
Some just wanna hang, they ain't got no swing, they stiff style, that ain't how we do it.
When you got your own sound, they say the beat bang, top of the same old same old, the people need change.
And that's what we bring, feeling, ain't no shillings, I'm no cut pause, but y 'all, they got me dealing.
Get hot one minute, then forgot, sat and watched the whole plot unfold while I was chilling.
Winning, that's my last name, beginning is, and genuine would be the best synonym.
End to end, item came to the win, I blow minds with rhymes though, and targeted by 5 -0.
All the time, they crimes organized, so we keep us behind, they fire, but you and I know,
that when you in the district drive slow, many never resist, and never mind a blind fold.
Only way to have respect is when the brother got dope, that's the corny ass rules of the game, though I know.
Thinking back to 1 -9 -9 -0, living in Largo, my best friend was involved, though we was small.
We envisioned having cars at our home, that was ours when we was three feet tall, my dog from long time ago.
But calling me more like astronomy, but I don't care, so out there is where I gotta go.
Y 'all switch to whatever they pitch, career quick, know too many hits, but I am not a ho.
Therefore my sound is red, fall airborne, not really concerned with their dog, we share air.
There, that's what we have in common, but when it come to rhymin' yeah, forget about it.
He had to shift the balance cause so many myths around us, then somehow I wound up bringing it down.
