Im a hustler by nature
born to get this paper by any means
Saving for my future living broke is the past
fake music aint going to last round here
fabricated stories told from year to year
and from song to song
living up to an image the words that come out your mouf
you dont feel it your own self your own rhymes
geting cought with the times your 10 day contract is up
you wont be hereing from us your a carbon copy
your stage presence very slopy I a young cocky son of a bitch
With the balls to grab it all Im leting off 100 rounds with my mouth
politicing with a chicking then im airing her out