Eight track stereo, colored TV in every room

And you can snort a half a piece of dope every day

It′s the American Dream, nigga, well ain't it?

God knows it′s a rotten game. The only one the man left us to play

That's the stone cold truth

Yea

Twist something

Bumping Mozzy in the Maserati

Allegedly they say my little Relly caught a body

My city going stupid mainly

Lil niggas in the pen going super crazy

Runners over the stove, giving slight twirls with hoes

That powder they nose with that white girl

Four door Porsches and polo horses

Golf courses, teriyaki swordfish, exotic fortress

Gangsta gun game, my [?] aim damage a frame

Like the paper at the gun range, I'm sun blazing

Cross the line, I might down ya

That′s why I feel at home around the chain lifters, and body counters

Heavy handed henchmen, victorious vigilant

Still killing shit, it′s pretty boy militance

These rappers is a fuckin joke

Broke niggas tryna beef always getting smoked

Feet deep in the casket

Colombian fashion

Wasn't for this, then I′d still be jooking

I'm still jooking, it′s just nothing is getting tooken

Words is like coke, I'm used to cooking

Like aftershocks niggas is used to booking

Saw so much that I cannot be shooken

My goons follow ′cause I know the way

Trained to go fast with no delay

Keep a shooter with a throwaway

When it's war we never go away

SKs blow your face when big boys come out to play

The bullshit you better start squashing

Know your family would be set in place doing car washes

Have you taking shots like you was bar hoppin

You know the doctrine, since when the fuck y'all start poppin?

Medaliano, Masonic murder rap scholar

[?], major models sophisticado

Might Colombian fashion your casket

Put your head in a basket

There′s no way for you to even mask it

It′s the fuck I'm talking ′bout, man

Y'know I mean?

From the ground on up, dirty shit man

Yea