yo why bother talkin' bout gunz/ if you aint got one/
actin' like yall lyrics fire/ when yall not hot son/
why bother spittin about death/ if you aint really seen yah manz face as he took his last breath/
who actin' like they spittin' a flamethrower/ when aint nobody feelin' heat/
who on here frontin' tryna' rep like yall cowards really from the street/ is yall mad or crazy but i be backin' up my words/ and throwin lead at somebody's mama's boy over the next hottest beats/ then rippin' rectangular plastic to smell the fresh aroma of orange hairs on my herb/
why bother sayin' you da king/ but you know you gon' retreat/
who think they hot/ who wanna run a marathon wit me/ da ruler/
multimillion dollar dreams, of ownin' plush mini mansions, in the hamptons, for me and my team/ who wanna live my lifestyle, runnin' from the cops/ takin' over blocks/ servin' zombies walkin' to da crackhouse/
why bother spittin at you/ when i could really spit at you/
touch you yah brother, mother, and yah weak crew/
i laugh cuz yall aint even half of me/ now who said they da king got some ordasity/ putt'em like 50 said in the aftermath you'll see/
ONE!

Next Weapon = Soda Can.