Letras
I got em stuck off the realness, the king murderous
The city where you get caught slipping, homie you learn to bust
I get harassed by the gang unit observing us
They got a gang in every state now, what did you learn from us?
California don't need a motive to run up on em
My forty-four got me fully focused, I'm smoking doja
I'm holding on, remaining strong, putting love in my culture
You and your phony homies know when its best to approach us
Coast to nostra don't speak about it, how you supposed to
I can't wait till my older homies get out of Folsom
Intellectual gangsters I learned the most from
Sell the most drugs, Atlanta and Minnesota
I feel like my last breath is getting closer
As I seen the candles lit at the store by the corner
You keep hating on me dog, but your girl supports us
Autograph titties, that's how I'm gonna promote us
I recommend with your enemies, never reconcile
I taught you better, you haven't been ready in a while
Full of bullets holes, you supposed to know the deal
If I could rule the world, I'd do some songs with Lauryn Hill
And talk about the realist shit on how the fuck I feel
On how you down to sell your soul for a couple mill
Ceramic rap, I'm bout to name it the traffic rap
They caught Tommy on the road, we gotta bring him back
Fuck it, we lost till somebody gotta call the boss
This is hard or trusty Vindo I been knowing you the longest
Do it like Italians do in the old Boston
I put Biggie Smalls tape in my old walkman
I'll tell you to your face with no metaphor
Fucking with the king, my soldiers ready to go to war
Don't comprehend what I'm saying? Go get Rosetta Stone
Forty-seven mob homie, we the next to blow