[ Featuring Ransom ]
(La música de Harry Fraud)
Live from The Roxy, we got pink 10s and oxys
Thorazine and morphine, blue jeans, no Versace
Brick of Phil Donahue, no Joanie and Chachi
Cook it up right in front of you, somethin' like Hibachi
Street life, pocket full of bands, Mariachi
Three dice in my hand, look like I'm playin' Yahtzee
Plain Jane yachty, pushin' foreign like I'm Fivi
Walkin' outta Neiman's like I inked a deal with Ghazi
Don't love no thotty, sellin' birds, catchin' bodies
Only sport I ever played, only game, only hobby
Hope all is well on that road, it get kinda rocky
We call it hell 'cause my block hotter than wasabi
White, hard and stucco, shit look like epoxy
I know these niggas wanna rob me, why I got my Glocky
But now we Somerset trippin', catchin' bricks from papi
Money over my ex-bitch I put that shit on Moxy
Yeah, I don't know what you all want from me (at all)
Stay to myself 'cause misery loves company
I know I turned my back on some people who tried to front on me (I know)
Yeah, 'cause misery loves company
Scarred by a lil' nigga I treated just like a son to me (ah, damn)
Can't repeat what that nigga done to me, nah (nah)
But I'm livin' my life comfortably
No one can see, 'cause I know misery loves company
Just play my shit to start each morning (yes)
Here go a brief warnin'
Why don't you turn your back when the streets callin'? (Damn)
The fiends movin' like they're sleepwalkin'
I don't sleep often (nah), the cousin of death is rest in a cheap coffin
Heard through the wire that we keep warrin' (yeah)
But the words of Christopher Wallace in our heads is sayin', "Keep scorin'" (yes)
Playin' Chris and Snoop in the hoopty while police swarmin'
We wanna be more, so we look for Wallace to be Jordan, huh
Now we pile up in sweet foreigns
Stoic killers that sign peace offerings, divide each portion
Savage, pourin' wine out of sheek porcelain
Stay out my lane with that weak offense (stay back)
A lion never slept in the jungle (never)
Used to be feared 'til I read the definition of humble
Now I'm the greatest, I say it, never whisper or mumble
I stayed on the block when the stomach of my sister would rumble (ahh)
Through constant repetition and struggle (yeah)
Survived the game without a coach, exhibition or huddle
My mission is subtle, I motivate, you ain't supposed to wait
You rather live in shit than have us witness you grippin' a shovel (that's real)
I'm like Van Gogh when his hands flow
But in a bando I'm like Rambo when he land blows
Y'all niggas Sambos, I'm a godfather like Brando (yeah)
Out in Saint-Tro(pez) with a tanned ho and a Lambo
I think she Anglo, so I told her ass that she can't go
She on the 'Gram 'stead of watchin' her little man grow
Cut from a different cloth, you can only reap what your hands sow (that's it)
What's God givin' is Ran's flow
