Twenty nineteen I had the hottest flows
Fifty-two ghetto jams, word to Domino
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go (I love y’all)
Said, I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go
In twenty twenty you should let the pill bottle go
Blow up some chronic smoke, let the marijuana blow
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go
(My Brother Dizz Made This)
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go

Lyricist of the year, lyrics are what they fear
They shivering, I can hear em’, I did it
Another year, I’m switching another gear
I’m bumping Em in the hood, your theory get nothing here
I’m really a puppeteer pulling strings, you fuck with me
Crooked swings, you fuck with me
Bullet sing you a sad song (da da da)
You rappers never last long, blink your ass gone
All you talk about is crack, and you ain’t got bars
So your rap song remind me of bad reception on trap phones
Don’t let us catch you moonwalking through the jack zone
We leave you butt-ass naked in your Balenciaga’s
Roll your ass up like an enchilada in Ensenada
One blast look like I splashed Michelada against your Prada
Thank for God it’s Intriago, my shit is hotter
Your foolery is confusing me, I think I should do the eulogy
For the real nigga you used to be

Twenty nineteen I had the hottest flows
Fifty-two ghetto jams, word to domino
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go (I love y’all)
Said, I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go
In twenty twenty you should let the pill bottle go
Blow up some chronic smoke, let the marijuana blow
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go
I don’t wanna leave but I gotta go

It’s nothin’ y’all can tell me
I am a deity mixed with Pac, the Annunakiveli
I’m the modern Akinyele, if lil Mama got the jelly
Like Nas, I put my unborn God’s Son across her belly
Her Impala got Pirelli, she parking next to my old school
Then she give me brains in my house, like I was home schooled
My rap pace is systematic in this rat race
My fan base is just organic, nigga whole food’s
You get your streams from machines, shit is so different
But machines ain’t purchasing no tickets
Concert ticket sales so low ain’t even no crickets
The industry should be a Broadway play, because it’s so wicked
People pretend to be a friend of me but really be an enemy
My energy is I ain’t got time
For the bad vibes you sending me, but I keep a MAC-Ten with me
Offending me, your next of kin’ll be verifying your identity
At the morgue, I stay out the way
And don’t bother nobody till it’s time to come out and play
That’s the California way, how Deontay say it to this day
Either EY or AY ya’ll pray
Reverse the beat, I gave you a verse a week
I asked for the smoke and low level jokers were first to speak
Not even worth the beef, in search of their worst defeat, they just Earning an associates in death, that’s murder in the first degree (Uh)
Shout out my homie Big Hutch, RIP KMG
The Benz is AMG, the Monte Carlos eighty tree
Dippin’ through Crenshaw
I throw the West Coast up at the Nip mural
I’ve been Supersonic since Baby-D (RIP)
California is the mode I’m in
My sober mind, I can see through the soul of men
I can see what you holding in
Everything between Joe and Em’s between Joe and him
But keep playing slick with my name Joey, I’m going in
I only joke with friends
It’s Crooked
(My Brother Dizz Made This)

Yeah
On some Ready to Die, track number five shit
(My Brother Dizz Made This)
Anyway, let me salute Dizz
Dizz what up
Good looking my G
Everybody who rocked with this series you know what I’m saying
New Wave Distribution, Hitmaker Services, Family Bvsiness
I love all y’all man
I wish I could say I see you next week
TG behind the boards let’s get the fuck out of here
(I love y’all)
I’m gone