[Verse 1: Twisted Insane]
Born and raised in California the city of the stoner
Pushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her
And they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum
Now I become hot as Arizona
Post up in a bucket all night saying "Fuck it!" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless
That's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching
I could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones
Mixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol
Fuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball
Sick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight
But really half them people wasn't saying shit at all
Go ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice
You in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride
Sick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got
When other niggas come around they often run and hide
You can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high
Drinkin' all my life away as time passes by
I could've been in medicine
I could've been a president
I wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?
Four racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight
I made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie
Bought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets
Some new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna
God Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself
They say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help
I told you it's the voices that be talking to me, giving me subliminals
That's how you make your faces all melt
Little nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt
And get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil
Rippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus
Really ain't no other rapper on my level
Born and raised in California the city of the stoner
Pushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her
And they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum
Now I become hot as Arizona
Post up in a bucket all night saying "Fuck it!" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless
That's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching
I could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones
Mixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol
Fuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball
Sick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight
But really half them people wasn't saying shit at all
Go ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice
You in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride
Sick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got
When other niggas come around they often run and hide
You can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high
Drinkin' all my life away as time passes by
I could've been in medicine
I could've been a president
I wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?
Four racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight
I made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie
Bought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets
Some new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna
God Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself
They say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help
I told you it's the voices that be talking to me, giving me subliminals
That's how you make your faces all melt
Little nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt
And get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil
Rippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus
Really ain't no other rapper on my level
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