Edge

[Verse 1]Uh uh, Uh, UhAyo, mac 10s and fake friendsLawyers little game homicide 25 what the fuck a nigga facinBut I'm still trill, still holdinRollin gully until I'm frozen, closed in a box with embalming fluidVeins pumpin iceFirst and 15th keep that caine pumping rightHard white, cold cashHold fast, fold fast, through the city so gasNo assStraight head bitch, I'm running from the fedsFuck comma raps, Sam GiancanaAll I got in this world is my fifth dick and nanaGangsta mannerism lyrical vandalismNiggaz be burnin up their guns until the fucking hammers hit 'emWho need help?Well until then I'ma take that mac off the shelfand hold these fucking streets hostageBlowing smoke out my nostrilsEvery breath is a step to a untimely death[Hook 2X]I wanna know where to goNeed a place in my mind I can restCause this time is running out for my fleshDried up, sittin' in a chair fried up[Verse 2]You know me; I don't need no introduction in thisBig gun, big dick, half of a mill on the wristSittin in my continental thinkin' about potential connectsI live it all, just pencil the bestParts of the life of a quintessential hustlerWhen I pull a slide backMotherfuckers be hoping they faces don't get left openYou understand?Shirt soaking, brain smoking left in the ocean floatinShyne Po, dough, stack, y'all Rap niggaz is trashI don't give a fuck how much records you soldTryin' to be meKeep it real dog, you dyin to be meYou wanna know how it feel, don't you?To have a murder charge, tote guns at American Music AwardsAnd live life against oddsDoing 170 screaming "FUCK THE WORLD" (gangsta get outta the car)[Hook 2X][Verse 3]Where the fuck them niggaz at? We gonna handle this beefTurn your mic off bitch; see me in the streetFuck peace 'til I'm restin in the [dried up flesh is finish]?I don't know how to chill til I'm in the morgueDysfunctional, highly uncomfortable paranoidWithout the extra clip (bitch), try me I'll puncture youHad niggaz waking up with wings in their backs, halos in their head like"Ayo I'm dead"Can a knight fucking princess Diana typeVana White, vane light, pen I write cold, hand of iceThey said too much for the motor mind to comprehendWalk wit me, pause take a breath (lets go)Things ain't just the same for gangstasSecret indictments fucking up the game for gangstas[?] charges tryin to arraign a gangstaThrough it all I maintain my gangsta[Hook until fade]