Rabies

Yeah

(La música de Harry Fraud)

Holy Christ and Jesus, Latter Day Saints, I caught a half a brickie

Climbin' up the ladder of success, I brought my latter with me

Double cup of purple so it's 'Rex in that lamb chop

Modern-day version of my grandpops with a flask of whiskey

Sprinklin' hashish on backs of white Runtz and black truffle

Eight Super Bowl rings on my hands look like some brass knuckles

Thirty-popper on your third eye, fuck with my first lady

Stirred the pot, stirrin' stir fry, you know I'm stir-crazy

First eighty K, they tried to persuade me not to murk Davie

Got him out the way around the time I dropped my first Mercedes

Kitchen cabinet full of eight-ounce bottles like a Gerber Baby

Sittin' on a chirp of dog, shit look like a bird with rabies

Checkin' in on that red-eye flight, might have to check a bag

Checkin' out my room, trunk full of dope, follow that checkered cab

Nike checks on my Off-Whites, courtesy of Virgil

We ran the place so many times that by now, we don't need no rehearsal

Are we there yet? Still trappin' in the jungle

Still havin' motion, havin' real racks, rich and humble

Cell tapped, no rebuttal, fell back from the huddle

Blow fell on the door and felt like a jail cat when it crumbled

Yeah, now run and tell that to the bumbles

Rumble pack on the machete, four quarters in a O

And sixty-four in a 'bow, thirty-six a quarter crow

Brick of blow on forty-four, twelve packs in a bundle

It ain't no secret, I was really eatin', pashtun slingin' keys (that's me)

Good dope that's best served raw like Japanese cuisine (ah)

From my city to Detroit, well, we like Magic and Kareem

Body bags in that Pontiac, I took the 90 back with ease, yeah

Three shooters, one driver, we spinnin' carpools

Game ain't get it from law school, got it movin' blue, rippin' dog food (rippin' dog food)

I bought the coupe then I snatched the truck (snatched the truck)

They see me and add me up

I'ma have a hundred plus on when you dap me up (what's up with you?)

Yeah, and that's what's up (that's what's up), uh

Well, watch what I do this summer, that new Patek bust gon' cost like two caddy trucks (two caddy trucks)

I love to talk about it 'cause them bricks was a real thing (it was real)

'Cause the tape in them flakes shining Tiffany 'til green (ah)

It's a victory lap for hustlers (for hustlers) who literally had to suffer

I'm on rich nigga shit, now I sit in the back for comfort (check it)

I'm at the fence bettin' money, I told 'em that I want the under (give me the under)

I hit a good lick then married a hood chick like I'm Jumper (like I'm Jumper)

When they shit drop, they shit go from the studio to the dumpster (man, that shit trash)

I'm in my interviews, tellin' war stories on No Jumper, nigga

Ah

Still trappin' in the jungle

Still havin' motion, havin' real racks, rich and humble

Cell tapped, no rebuttal, fell back from the huddle

Blow fell on the door and felt like a jail cat when it crumbled

Yeah, now run and tell that to the bumbles

Rumble pack on the machete, four quarters in a O

And sixty-four in a 'bow, thirty-six a quarter crow

Brick of blow on forty-four, twelve packs in a bundle

Count up

Yeah, Bo Jack

My nigga bounced back like nothing, man

We made of titanium, nigga, fuck you thought?