[Starlito]Pull up shooting, yeah I clutch .30'sJust like Curry, but my cup dirtyI'll shoot a nigga, like Future niggaWhen Young Metro say you ain't trustworthyDoes that make Trip Klay Thompson?In the kitchen like Action BronsonRacks on me like I'm Blac YoungstaI'm an All-Star with cash money[Don Trip]NASCAR full of fast moneyI fuck a bitch for her tax moneyMy bread dirty like Murphy LeeBut I'm Marshawn Lynch if you at me somethingI'm so cold, I need a space heater, and a pair of mittens, and a chinchillaLeft hand shooter like James HardenBut I'm good with the right like Quentin MillerBlade sharp as a potato peelerMy clip long enough to say No LimitMy babies even like balling out they say "Daddy's pockets got play dough in it"[Starlito]This my real life man it ain't no imageAll these rappers with the same ol' gimmicksTalk that talk but they don't live itWe the Dream Team, '92 OlympicsPistol on me like I'm Pete MaravichShooter like I'm Peja StojakovicYou would think I play for Gregg PopovichMoral of the story, you ain't robbing shit[Don Trip]Strapped like I'm ready for an apocalypseTwo percent tint on my rocket shipBeam on my bit' with a carbine kickAnd a clip longer than a fucking hockey stick[Starlito]Two 9's on me, I'm Jermaine GretzkyTen pounds of sour that's a power playTryna get a check and stay out the penalty boxI've been grinding 48 hours a dayI can eyeball it and tell you how much it weighsSell you dry wall and tell you "Have a nice day"On the Eastside that's the games we playBut I've been trying hard to stay out of the wayI know some bad bitches that'll lie to your faceTell you that they love you then send my guys to your placeNaaah, and they don't bakeThem niggas coming for them pies and that cake[Don Trip]And all they wanna know is the time and placeMoney in the picture, I'ma find a wayI checked my schedule, my time is greatIt's pay day, it's my kind of dayI'm back in the bitch like I moved awayLaughing at the bitches that I used to dateBitch told me to buy her a Gucci bag, I told her "Shut the fuck up" like Juicy JThis hoe must be hallucinatingI'd rather throw all my loot awayI'd rather burn all the cash I got, if I tricked I'd never recuperateI'd be somewhere in the ICUBreathing through a muthafucking oxygen tubeCraig like "Craig, what happened to you!"I'm dying cause I bought some bitch some shoes[Starlito]They lie so often, I get confusedI'm on my grind, yeah my office is my kitchen tooEverybody with me tote my bitches tooYou might get hit six different toolsA .45, a .40, Glock 9, FN five-seven, and a couple Mac-11'sOvernight trip, yeah we still pack the weaponsThough we might trip, extra clips for protectionThis ain't what you want, but that's just a suggestionMake it out alive even if I get arrestedTell a hundred lies, but I won't give a confessionI could teach a lesson on discretion, Lito
