What’s hatnin’ Dizz? (What up)
We back (We Back)
Ayo, what up Red Bull? (What Up)
Ay Mike, yo greater movement affiliation, Urban Confucius what up? (What’s hatnin’)
Order Goona 89 TI 3G, Yo
I lost a lot of friends in this game you know I mean
(My Brother Dizz Made This)

I’ve been double crossed, no medallion
A city full of lost niggas wildin’
They hate to see a boss nigga stylin’
Red carpet walk across with a stallion, yo
Gucci dripping sauce in Italian, whoa
I just wanna floss like I’m smiling, whoa
Stay away from false niggas smiling, yo
Pay the cost to be the boss
Money pallet, oh
Niggas mad, my bars live in a cell
I call it the pen and pad
Forgive me I didn’t have a dad
Shit was bad, they told me I finish last
Instead I’m just kicking ass forever, I’m in my bag, yeah
I could feel it when the respect is real
Doing business with crook is deeper than a record deal
My TEC could spill
Yet and still I couldn’t pay my electric bill
Now my every meal is something fly like electric eel
Coming up and niggas plotting against ya, starting to whisper, watching your pictures, stalking your Insta
Hope the coppers will frisk ’em, I walk with a pistol
Churchill in my mouth, feel like you talking to Winston
Memoirs of a fatherless kid
I grew up in a zombie apocalypse crib, prosperity died
Poverty lived, in my mind robbery constantly here
Think I got you I probably did, apology shit
I was hungry as a vegan in the meat market
Police department lookin’ for a street target
Now Neiman Marcus sneakers walk across a mink carpet
I promised God I would stop it soon as my dream started
A soul artist writin’ about all of life’s test
I’m cold hearted, diamonds all on my ice chest
Make the right steps, make the right calls
Turn a pawn to a king before the knife falls something like chess
A boss, I graduated from a rich thug
Seem like they gotta hate you just to get love
Money on my head, in the bed nightmares that my bitch called the feds
That’s why I’m at the strip club
Tryna get my mind off the leeches and the back stabbers
Chillin’ in the V.I.P. with a bunch of whack rappers
I don’t blame ’em, they mommas was probably crack addicts
It’s just a theory, picked up the series, I’m back at it
Moving melodies with my mind telekinetic hella poetic
Nobody got better letters embedded in a line
Call up a medic I said I’m sticking your neck in a guillotine just to get ahead ’cause you rather pathetic when you rhyme
Doctor Monroe, niggas on hell’s island
Like the word talk you get the L quiet
I don’t wanna hear shit when I’m spittin’
Just remember the same letters that spell listen spell silent
I move with a pair of shooters
With barracudas with a pair of rugers that get respected like
Larry Hoover
Cut your wig like some hair remover
I be somewhere in Cuba
Sittin’ in a pool just like I’m sharing Ubers
Reminding you niggas that I’m the best ever
Seen a lyricist like Crooked the west never
I go gorilla, I chip you like a poker dealer, the flows are iller
Nigga I’m on a next level
The final boss you face, give up the joystick
You boys are pussy as dykes fucking a toy dick
Destroyed quick, when the beat in my voice click
Getting rid of black ass snitches
And white boy Rittz
‘Cause we don’t like that shit up over here
East side, Long Beach throw my city in the air, yeah
It’s Friday you know I had to come
Let’s walk right up to the sun my niggas

Word, word, word
The Weekly’s
It’s Friday
You know where we at every Friday
Yo, crime city what up (Yeah, yeah what up)
They ain’t fucking with us (What?)
Ayo Active let’s get the fuck outta here man (What’s that I smell?)
See you next week, what that I smell smoke? (Really?)
Oh not yet (Not yet, aight cool)
When ya ready bark at your dog
We here, all smoke