DipSet, ugh
Weezy, holler at me

Welcome to the concrete jungle
Got snakes, got bears, got lions, no muzzles (No muzzles)
And they’re all trying to cause me trouble
Got the big trey-eight, long nose, no muzzle (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
Hold up, hold up!

Ay, ay! Hold up, Drama, where you get that shit from, nigga? Man, that’s exclusive! Run that the fuck back! Ay!
The Aphilliates, nigga, pay attention!

DipSet, ugh
Weezy, holler at me (You know how we do!)
Ay, ay

Welcome to the concrete jungle
Got snakes, got bears, got lions, no muzzles (No muzzles)
And they’re all tryna cause me trouble
Got the big trey-eight, long nose, no muzzle (Gangsta Gri-Zillz! Ill!)
Back up off me, shorty—if not? Surely—
That piece’ll come off me shortly (Shortly)
My hood breed gangsters, boy
You wanna be down? Let’s see now; no, thank you, boy (Nope)
My niggas’ll fish-filet you, boy
Then go and tell your moms to get the paper, boy (Yup)
Your son is no longer just a paperboy
He’s front-page on the paper, boy, read about him (Look)
Extra, extra, read about it! (Look)
While we get twisted, laugh, and smoke weed about it (Look)
And can’t nobody do a thing about it
‘Cause they’ll be in the same boat—literally, the same boat (Yup, yup)
Floating ‘cross the same sea (Yup)
Through the same water (Yup)
Don’t fuck with them same Gs (Yup)
Don’t fuck with that man, please (Yup, yeah, yeah)
Don’t fuck with his money, don’t fuck with his gangrene (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)

Aim, squeeze, Wayne be on the back streets
Shotty on the back seat—fuck ’em, if you ask me
Make ’em look, but them niggas can’t look past me
Pass the weed to the next nigga—that’s me
Let’s see: B-E-N-Z, A-M-G
21 inches, and I got them bitches skin-deep
Tempt me, and anything can happen, I ain’t rapping
I ain’t shooting at you soldiers, bitch, I’m going for the captain
I ain’t shooting at your shoulders, bitch, I’m going for your cap, and I—
Won’t stop capping ’til your wings start flapping, and you—
You just an angel in the streets full of gangsters, and—
Me, I’m from the home where murder make you famous, and—
I think I’m ’bout to get that trench off the hanger
And the mask out the drawer, but I never hide the banger, I’m a—
Straight player, if you love her, don’t bring her
I’ll tell her a little shit, like, I can make her ass a singer, and she—
Believe that, we back at the crib, she like:
“How it shoot if it’s plastic, for real?”
I’m like, “Fall back, ma, your ass need to chill.”
Then she rolled on my dick like an ecstasy pill, haha
I smoke Beverly Hills, whatever—that kill
That leave a nigga with that heavenly feel, yeah
Step, and I will step in your grill, yeah
Leave a nigga with that heavenly feel, yeah (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)