[Verse 1: Jay Rock]
It ain't hard to tell that I live in hell
Sin City watch city gotta get your mail
How I sleep when I die that's real
There's only two ways out: living under the dirt or life in the cell
I'm still on the block tryna make me a sell
You can't make too much, some niggas might tell
That's how it is homie, when you up in your shit
Get locked up, your friends might hook on your bitch
Its fuck a ho, that's why I'm all about my chips
To live and die broke, it's some embarrassing shit
That's why I'm hooking a block, fuck hooking a bitch
When the wars on, I'm bustin' em clips
Shit I'm just trying to stack paper
Blowing big weed, I'm high like a skyscraper
L.A nigga in a New York state of mind
When I rhyme verses like Cool J back in '85, I'm hot lava
Gold d's on my low rider 4'5 so original like a ol' timer
2 pistols, one llama
In the back of the trunk like who want drama? nobody
Sitting back I got this, a project prophet
I could predict when my goons ready to pop shit
When the funds is low
We're on the hunt for tons of blow
Summer time, in Cali homie all we do is snow
Counting dollars, til our hands get callused
Won't stop hustling til the judge bang the gaval
Prayin' for the better days
Sit in the club celebrate
Pop bottles, with top models back on the interstate
Traffic and chickens homie we trying to get it
Then we back in the kitchen whipping like a chemist
Hunger pangs got me acting a fool in that dinner time
Life is like a racing track trying to get to the finish line
It ain't hard to tell that I live in hell
Sin City watch city gotta get your mail
How I sleep when I die that's real
There's only two ways out: living under the dirt or life in the cell
I'm still on the block tryna make me a sell
You can't make too much, some niggas might tell
That's how it is homie, when you up in your shit
Get locked up, your friends might hook on your bitch
Its fuck a ho, that's why I'm all about my chips
To live and die broke, it's some embarrassing shit
That's why I'm hooking a block, fuck hooking a bitch
When the wars on, I'm bustin' em clips
Shit I'm just trying to stack paper
Blowing big weed, I'm high like a skyscraper
L.A nigga in a New York state of mind
When I rhyme verses like Cool J back in '85, I'm hot lava
Gold d's on my low rider 4'5 so original like a ol' timer
2 pistols, one llama
In the back of the trunk like who want drama? nobody
Sitting back I got this, a project prophet
I could predict when my goons ready to pop shit
When the funds is low
We're on the hunt for tons of blow
Summer time, in Cali homie all we do is snow
Counting dollars, til our hands get callused
Won't stop hustling til the judge bang the gaval
Prayin' for the better days
Sit in the club celebrate
Pop bottles, with top models back on the interstate
Traffic and chickens homie we trying to get it
Then we back in the kitchen whipping like a chemist
Hunger pangs got me acting a fool in that dinner time
Life is like a racing track trying to get to the finish line
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