Bury you & ya unknown bitch, to die inside a cold-ditch/
His raps like gunslingers use napkins, they unfold-quick/
Soon as the drum-roll split they brain, one horizontal-slice/
Pour quarts-of-light liquor, give respect to a former-life/
After that, spit-in-ya-face like cobras, blindin-ya-eyes/
People say crack-cane-hustles, not so stylish-this-fight/
Bastards back-pay double, contracts, he signin-it-twice/
Get face bagged, stashed into-the-ride, I Shock minds/
Most confident niggas figure, dial the suicide-hotlines/