Текст песни
19, still gettin' kicked out the crib
Ripped off my bib, spit out my food, hiccup and piss
Urine burnin', I could smell the liquor in this
Cats always tryna' pick up the fist
"Duff this dude out"
Rappers stoop just to get to your crib
Now, it's like bruised face, loose walk, too sauced
Distraught thoughts on my corpse on the asphalt
Back when I'd slack off, rock my slacks of my ass half-off
Every time I rap I blast-off
Back when I catch court I always had sports
Dippin' on cops in my track shorts
So tell my mom I had to make it right
I lie every night about the lime-light, so I could lie at night
And tell my pops I gotta take advice
Keep my head screwed on tight, abuse these mics
See me, I'm the contusion type
A cat to smack the mic against my fuckin' head when I'm losing hype
RATKING, never losing hype, no
Smack king, and I do it right, no
RATKING, yeah, I do it nice, woah
Bitch, I skated before I rapped
If you take me before your captain
Bet 20 hots on your daddy
That someone could Noila Clap em'
Probably cold and passive
'Cause pops was the one that got to me
Feeling down like he passed it
And when I'm cornered, it's action
I was kinda out the game
Mama put the quarter right back in the slot
In 09', we took the 7 to the Dussy 17 to the block
Bitch, if yo' nigga had Supreme, we was the reason he copped it
And nowadays, I'm on the hunt for mirrors to box with
And some pretty bitches that ain't trip if it's a hit and run
I got the gold 'cause I don't do the crying, bro
She Mario, I'm tryna' keep the whining to a minimum
Piggies come, bet I'm splittin' quicker than I finish rum
Find me some Indica
Nuggets on my fingers and my shirt like they was chicken crumbs
The room spinnin', finna yak if I don't hit the blunt
Got the chin wagging, slim chances of me getting up after this
Mind in the trash next to where my fuckin' passion went