Verse 1: Pastor Troy
These niggas asking how I choose to die
Just like a muthafucking G is my only reply
Hi 7, Mac 11 with the shoulder slang
Crank me up, bitch I'm gunning killing everything
And my veins pumping nothing but this thug blood
Maybe blue nigga, till I'm through nigga, yeah
Situation got a nigga bout to self-destruct
Better tell them niggas I don't give a fuck
I make money, nigga money doesn't make me
Guess that's why all these weak niggas hate me
And lately I been letting a bunch of shit ride
But fuck that where my muthafucking forty-five
Hook 2x: (We Ready in background)
I sold my soul to the devil for a small price
I walk through muthafucking hell screaming thug life
And I was asking everybody where the devil hang
I got them niggas with me they be talking gang bang
Verse 2: Pastor Troy
My head gone, cause I been on this earth long enuff
In this land of little trust
Where all my models and rubs, till I been bottled and brewed
And it's been provin' that it ain't shit to prove
I move about a gram a so, but clientele won't grow
Until all them basers know, that I keep that butter
A new face runs shop with me, said she need a 30 piece
But I can't do shit because I think she's undercover
My brother doing fed time, so I move nickels and dimes
Praying when he comes out I can break him off
He taught me all the game, make them boys find our name
But from point blank range show them fuckers we ain't soft
I lost about a dozen of my cousins, homicide
How the hell am I supposed to hide the fucking hurt
The many tears I cry, understanding me I tryed
Then my cousin came to me and said coz go to work
Now I'm grinding
My timing, perfect, pick a mack and me some clothing
The corner stores, the ski masks, the forty-fours
Run up on 'em so slick, and get my pistol and click
Give me the muthafucking bag or I'm gone buss yo' shit
Now I came up, a fifteen thousand dollar lick
Yeah Red Mouth, the Pastor need about a brick, and now it's on
Strictly, quarters or grams
Them down south georgia boys done blew up on all ya'll haters
These niggas asking how I choose to die
Just like a muthafucking G is my only reply
Hi 7, Mac 11 with the shoulder slang
Crank me up, bitch I'm gunning killing everything
And my veins pumping nothing but this thug blood
Maybe blue nigga, till I'm through nigga, yeah
Situation got a nigga bout to self-destruct
Better tell them niggas I don't give a fuck
I make money, nigga money doesn't make me
Guess that's why all these weak niggas hate me
And lately I been letting a bunch of shit ride
But fuck that where my muthafucking forty-five
Hook 2x: (We Ready in background)
I sold my soul to the devil for a small price
I walk through muthafucking hell screaming thug life
And I was asking everybody where the devil hang
I got them niggas with me they be talking gang bang
Verse 2: Pastor Troy
My head gone, cause I been on this earth long enuff
In this land of little trust
Where all my models and rubs, till I been bottled and brewed
And it's been provin' that it ain't shit to prove
I move about a gram a so, but clientele won't grow
Until all them basers know, that I keep that butter
A new face runs shop with me, said she need a 30 piece
But I can't do shit because I think she's undercover
My brother doing fed time, so I move nickels and dimes
Praying when he comes out I can break him off
He taught me all the game, make them boys find our name
But from point blank range show them fuckers we ain't soft
I lost about a dozen of my cousins, homicide
How the hell am I supposed to hide the fucking hurt
The many tears I cry, understanding me I tryed
Then my cousin came to me and said coz go to work
Now I'm grinding
My timing, perfect, pick a mack and me some clothing
The corner stores, the ski masks, the forty-fours
Run up on 'em so slick, and get my pistol and click
Give me the muthafucking bag or I'm gone buss yo' shit
Now I came up, a fifteen thousand dollar lick
Yeah Red Mouth, the Pastor need about a brick, and now it's on
Strictly, quarters or grams
Them down south georgia boys done blew up on all ya'll haters
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