Bang, bang, bang
It's the ambassador of rap's massacre
Preserved with my chest poked out
Like I just walked out of Attica, swerve
Homie, I ain't mad at ya, do what you do
Sick of them tight-ass jeans
But I don't want to bat at ya
Stay in my lane, me and fame, the antidote
An OG, dang, double visions of Earl Manigault
Not just a hot song
Not just a sick quote
Not just your local shit
Not just above dope, MO