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Word to my long-lost kid I try to stay positive, but the states have records on the shit I did It wasn't big Just putting little bags of white in executives' briefcases late at night My friends ain't much better but we stay tight Catching cases, losing patience About to take it to your head Run the jewels, if you move your fucking shoes, your dead Not an inch, I'm convinced that in a pinch I'll shoot More than my mouth or my cavity tooth Under pressure Trying to push a Tesla Walking in the concierge be like "Yes Sir" Bedroom oak wood dressers Blacker than Aunt Ester Whatever rapper you like, I'm better my lyrics are fresher My CDs are like dope testers Addictive lyrical gestures Pointing out those who write lesser The rapper that you love's a bitch and I don't stress her Or that tight-breasted sweater Better wrap it up like a dub of some shit No sticks, no seed or stems in that shit I'm OG like kush Operation Push Watch for the cops, put that shit up in the bush Yeah I'm something like a bizarre wizard Eating gizzards and biscuits Break guitars into splinters, beat the stage on some Jimi Hendrix shit I keep a ganja clip smoking out the window I don't get a lot about this world But I get dough Outside the house in the summertime Game Time Maple leaves, palm trees, bad breezies, gang signs Eight o'clock I'm refueling and re-upping my inventory My shooters got them But yo that's a whole other story It's only right that if you bear your chest You get burned Los Angeles be on that shoot out shit, they some true Westerns Keeping food on the table Keep the lights on, son Saying grace before you eat That's butter on them guns Rounded out the prayers, then hit the streets To see what's good But it's a short trip, cause ain't nothing moving Like it should