Lyrics
I heard Sam was goin' solo, hot damn, you didn't know so
Well I can blast fast or freak a ill type of slow flow
I'm hittin' harder than Barry Bonds so check the Golden Child
Throwin' it to your ear hole, got you goin' buckwild
With truck-tracks, rhymes on deck, breakin' off niggas proper
Did dirt, dipped West, 'cause I clowned coppers
You hip-hop rap composers, Mozart couldn't see me
Mad advanced in my skills, I'm all about the dollar bill
From Pittsburgh to Cali droppin' bombs like that
Was on the DL with the squad but Solo couldn't hold it back
Black, a regulator, plus a big gay figure
Mobbin' with that ill nigga with his finger on a bigger trigger
Servin' all the sacks, hittin' sevens on the simps
Makin' dough, eatin' shrimps, loc'n with some real pimps (Yeah)
So peep game, best believe I love my beats
That's why I make the type of music you
Can pump in your Jeeps (That's right)
So bust my sound, I put it down for the underground
I got the women, 'cause I'm slammin', jammin'
Got it goin' on, it's time for this new producer to rise
So open your eyes, I think U Better Recognize
Once again, it's the man with the master plan
They call him Sam and I (Think U Better Recognize)
Once again, it's the man with the master plan
They call him Sam and I (Think U Better Recognize)
I remember days on the block
Where I slang slung, played punk cops
Had mad props 'cause I ran with hard rocks (Yeah)
From 8-balls to oz's, I made G's (Say what?)
And built up enough loot to buy a ki's
No gang affiliation, yo, I stood on my own two, pullin' capers
I'm a sneaky-slick nigga, I never had to pull the trigger
A mack, on top of that, I used to stay wicked
Which is twenty-four seven, you can ask my ex-hooker
But now I'm on some new improved shit
Makin' hits, stackin' chips, now everything's legitimate
I flipped the script a long time ago, on the 5-0
When I discovered this new way to make my cash flow (Mmm)
Yes indeedy, I wasn't greedy