[Intro: Freddie Gibbs]
It sound funny but, but I hope this rap shit save me dawg
I'm out here, nigga
I'm really in the streets
I see a lot of niggas try to use this shit to get in the streets
They got it twisted
Fuck around, play around with fire, you get burned
[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
Never ever been on my level
Fuck with Fred you face to face with the devil
Raise hell to raise my funds up
Bitch I was raised in the ghetto
Pedal to the medal, foot to the floor
Three hundred fifty horses rolling
On the run cause I just kicked in the door
Hit a lick, the whip reported stolen
Tell me who out here got my back
And my dawg just got forty flat
A lot of niggas wanna hold with your four
At the end of the day man I hold my strap
And it ain't been no holding back
Hear my life told in all my raps
You probably got a problem with that
But the Midwest street shit I brought it back
What what you want, custom air Jordan's
Cab is slammin' on Chrome trill
Bitches who pack straps in their bag
Stacking their own cheese
Indica, Sativa, my reefer stocked tall as palm trees
Rap is for dick suckers and divas I don't recall these
Type of niggas living and breathing but I reside that
Eastside 17th the streets of the G I survive that
To the hood niggas go to school do right
This shit I'm doing, nigga you could do life
Before I picked up a mic I earned my stripes
It sound funny but, but I hope this rap shit save me dawg
I'm out here, nigga
I'm really in the streets
I see a lot of niggas try to use this shit to get in the streets
They got it twisted
Fuck around, play around with fire, you get burned
[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
Never ever been on my level
Fuck with Fred you face to face with the devil
Raise hell to raise my funds up
Bitch I was raised in the ghetto
Pedal to the medal, foot to the floor
Three hundred fifty horses rolling
On the run cause I just kicked in the door
Hit a lick, the whip reported stolen
Tell me who out here got my back
And my dawg just got forty flat
A lot of niggas wanna hold with your four
At the end of the day man I hold my strap
And it ain't been no holding back
Hear my life told in all my raps
You probably got a problem with that
But the Midwest street shit I brought it back
What what you want, custom air Jordan's
Cab is slammin' on Chrome trill
Bitches who pack straps in their bag
Stacking their own cheese
Indica, Sativa, my reefer stocked tall as palm trees
Rap is for dick suckers and divas I don't recall these
Type of niggas living and breathing but I reside that
Eastside 17th the streets of the G I survive that
To the hood niggas go to school do right
This shit I'm doing, nigga you could do life
Before I picked up a mic I earned my stripes
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