i wanna lay back in a loft from sellin packets of soft hit the corner ball until i got placks on my wall, wit no distractions at all, back to the wall, gotta cook and grind sacks of the raw, passin em' off ,when the jake come blastin em' off, no hommys assumed probable cause, your favorite young buck probably lost, push diesel in my hood but we call it exhaust, now we lay back stretched in a porsche, with a bad hispanic's face in my drawers, doin her chores, eagle tucked in the face plate mahogany doors, feds searching for the nigga while he tryin to score, oz's dawg move em' in 4's, nice with the 4 ends with a 5, haze smoke staining my eyes, carry the thing when i ride, that moves strangers aside, most cats hatin can't see the danger that lies