Yeah, you know what the f**k goin' on, ayy

Ayy, Big Bands Entertainment, that's a label we don't sign with rats

I see a lot of haters want me dead because I got the strap

If you want me on your song, you gotta pay me fast

Heard you got bitched back at high school, man, we don't f**k with that

Middle fingers to that boy L—, man, he's a famous rap

I'm from the south with niggas, got ARs with clips and mags

4-5 to your dome, Ah man, now his brain splattered

Chopper with a scope, finna to pop you like a tic-tac

Free my cousin Willie in that jam, I want my n**a back

They tryna take my style, you know I gotta break it back

That pillow talkin' to the h**s like some rats

If you talkin' all that smack, Glock 40 to your back

They don't call me Lil Jon, I will make this pistol snap

All this money on my head, man, y'all better get that

F**k a chit-chat, all you heard is click-clack

Heard it on my last song, I customized a SIGMAG

I done took so many h**s, you can't get your b**h back

Heard you tryna kill yourself, cause you can't get your blick back

Stop that cryin' on that live, talk about you spinnin' back

You don't aim for the chest, this choppa hit yo fitted cap

Yeah, my first time rappin', I was six, I knew I was the best

Heard you workin' with the cops, man, I knew you was a rat

Had to switch this flow up because y'all knew that I ain't gon' snap

I was down on my knuckles, I had to take away the past

Like I said, ain't nobody f**' with me, that's the fact

I can't trust nobody, the reason why I got the strap

I'm a southside baby, y'all gotta show me some respect

Silverstone with the TECs, smokin' crud, I can't pass

Folks say he wanna pack, you know I had a Tax his ass

And still, free my baby Will, m**r feds

Freestyle on the dome, I don't even need a pad

Beat your ass up with these hands, I don't even need a mac

Five shots to his back, now he is a goddamn pad

Like I'm Gucci in 06, you can't come to the trap

Like, for real, n**a, you can't come to the trap, n**a

If you speakin' on the dead, we gon' smoke you like a pack

Got a freaky little b**h, and you know she make a clap

Hit her once, she gon' wake back up, countin' his cash

Like Tupac, we hit him up, no MJ, we do you bad

Just got a Glock .23, just shot a whole 30, damn

My first time doin' the fraud, the feds was on my ass

Don't look at me, look at yourself, p**y boy, get you a bag

I'll hit your ass with the switch, it's like your motherfuckin' dad

We put a hole in his body, now he in the goddamn casket

I'm still that 517 n**a, still ridin' around with the ranch

And I got this mac, make you disappear like some magic

Heard he got shot six times, p**y boy, you ain't no savage

Where I'm from, they gon' catch you slippin' in that traffic

And you don't wanna beef with a quant, get you some cabbage

Shot him down, stars up in his head, now he Patrick, n**a

P**y

Yeah, big lay on this b**h, not the little one

Y'all, you already know what the f**k goin' on

They wanna see me, I be talkin' on the beat but they ain't hear me

Tryna use me for the clout now I'ma make a n**a feel me

Big Lay, too fine, make a n**a wanna eat me

Met a n**a who be punchin', told that n**a come and teach me

Can't let any n**a f**k, but he can tease me

Can't let a light-skinned n**a f**k, they too easy

Big lay, make a n**a mama wanna meet me

B**h, we gon' stomp, non-step h**s goofy

Thinkin' I'ma f**k for some money, made him lose me

Body too slim, that's what made your n**a choose me

Been ridin' with the same bitches, not a groupie

Bitches ran through, all these bitches lookin' stupid

Big head h**s got a brain, better use it

B**h got some legs on her body, make her use them

Like a little kid, we run off with your scooter

I'm a real boy, I don't entertain these goofies

Gotta 100 clips, 100 scenes, let's make a movie

Got your thot all up on my phone, she wanna do me

Countin' green like I'm Shaggy, but this ain't no Scooby

3.5 in the wood, got me actin' woozy

I'm a real n**a for life, I don't even got a cap

30 shots to his back, now he lookin' like a rat

I got 32's in this Glock but I ain't talkin' shaq

I'm from the South Side, where them niggas got them straps

They want that old Quan back, but they ain't gettin' that

This how long I been rappin', finna make me lose my breath

Now you dead up on the road, postin blicks up on your snap

I'm still Quan & Ruthless, n**a, ain't no cap on that