[Intro: T.F]
Uh, look
Uh, okay, okay
(Olman80)

[Verse 1: T.F & 2 Eleven]
Uh, spazzed out, tryna figure out how I blacked out
In the traphouse with bitches doing lashes with they ass out
"Ambitionz Of A Ridah" in the background
The streets is like the octagon, if you break down, don't tap out
N***as out here storytellin' so the police, they camped out
What happened to that old shit, hit super MACs and go max' out?
Fuck them others who let the flash out, fall face first like Pakyal
I post pics holding prop guns but it's real shit in my background
Mashed down, MAK-90 hit the backstreets and get crumbed, ayy, ayy
Hit the Eastside with the AGs and go dump, yeah, yeah
Yeah, I'm tired hanging like a bandana 'round a Crip n***a steering wheel
New brand new set of wheels, new bad bitch, hair and nails done
A1 like raw year, plenty residue dollar bills
Potting licks out at the Playa's Club, you get tied up like Dolla Bill
Yeah, I got mine out the mud, n***a, like a lean-head popping seals
I said I got mine out the mud, n***a, leaving yellow tape, popping shells (Yeah, uh)

[Verse 2: 2 Eleven & Conway the Machine]
Fresh out of jail, got it hot as hell
Retaliation, n***a, might as well
Yeah, my young n***a get a lot of kills, ah
Busting missions out of Boneville
With the cocaine, I made a lot of seals
With the proceeds off a clientele
Bought a hundred guns with a lot of shells
Get the opposition, n***a, slide to hell
Had to show these n***as I could rap-rap
Made a half a milli' out the trap-trap
But the kitchen table like a tat-tat
With the .38, n***a, blap-blap
Young Gunna, no slatt-slatt
With a couple screws like I'm Fat Pack
Rolls Royce, n***a, matte black
After this verse, it's a wrap-wrap
Bleed n***as like I missed 'em
Mike Amiri jeans, spent a Crip on 'em
Chopping blocks like a Flintstone
I'm mixin' dog with the fentanyl
All blood money getting rinsed off
With the royalties from residuals
They side, they love us but I'm dissing 'em
Flipping hoes, that's original
Shitting on 'em, that's intentional
All these rap n***as ain't original
Every single one sound similar
I can't pick and choose who to listen to
I cook waves, we flooding 'em, n***a
Competition, we fuckin' 'em
Every four hunnid, forty-eight grams
Make sure we gon' double up, ah
Twenty-five bands four times
N***a damn near ran a hunnid up
They should've never gave them n***as no money
Knowing they was finna run 'em up, ah
Fuck it up, but then fuck it off
N***as having money, I can't tell
Give a fuck about no government
Them n***as politic theyself, yeah (Yeah)
[Verse 3: Conway the Machine]
Spazzed out, whole lot of Vs lining up at the back house (Ha)
Told 'em wait 'til you all the way behind the gate before you pull your cash out (Ha)
Put a little extra baking soda in the pot and get another half out (When?)
You only got one body, n***a, that ain't really shit to brag 'bout (Ha)
I can push the button right now, I can get a couple n***as scratched out (Brr)
Like I'm a waxing menace, we gon' smoke them n***as, then we gon' stab out (Ayy, I'm stabbed out)
I heard he had your spot mapped up
Got your bitch tied up with a gagged mouth
Went in the closet, took that bag out (Where it's at, bitch?)
Put all the pounds in the Hefty, look like we taking trash out (Haha)
If it's pressure, we spin and we ain't gon' let it drag out (Brr)
Told that bitch to put up that plate and don't leave them bags out
Where I'm from you can't put up your peace, it's getting bad out (It's bad)
But I'm a straight goon, doing push-ups and holding us in a dayrun (Ha)
Your turn to eat comin', but it ain't soon (It's my turn)
I'm cooking up, the downstairs neighbors can smell the yay fumes (Hahaha)
I stacked so much money that I'm running out of safe room (Ha)

[Outro: Conway the Machine]
Machine, haha, yeah