This shit so fire.

I don't need no lighter.

This shit so fire.

I don't need no ladder.

C.O.D.

type nigga, I'm the man.

In real life, bangin' on my line, beggin' me to come get you.

Finna hit you, then I'm done with you like I never was.

With your hoes, follow protocol, never out of pocket money, never not a topic.

I be ridin' through the projects, niggas smokin' on the tropics.

With a towel on the chopper, one kilo in the Bible, and a Jack Bottle.

This shit so fine.

I don't need no lotto.

This shit so fine.

I don't need no lotto.

This shit so fine.

I don't need no line.

This shit so fine.

I don't need no ladder.

Four fingers up, all we do is bang.

I just blew a bag on the shooter gang.

In mama had dookie braids.

Try to keep her baby in them nukes and jacks.

Nothing like these rappers, we don't move the same.

You don't know how many skits I had to do a day.

I'ma get us out the hood, what I used to say.

Probation never permitted me to move away.

Tough talk, better get your top blew away.

Ain't hitting with the that I threw away.

That's just how it is, where niggas stay.

Kids getting here, bullets ricochet.

This shit so fire.

I don't need no ladder.

This shit so fine.

I don't need no ladder.

This shit's so fine.

I don't need no line.

This shit's so fine.

I don't need no luck

This shit so fire.

This shit so fire.

This shit so fire.

I ain't hitting with the that I threw away.

This shit so fire.

If any hit you, then I'm done with you like I never was with you.