DESCRIPTION:
lyrics
im comin from the poverty but i refuse it as well,
couple wonders couple thoughts what if i die in the pens,
movin on fast lane fo many years,they askin if i keep move on,
surely as havin the god by my side,me wit my gun,
clap,pop,this street game gotta playas dyin,
you wanna mo than a thousand fo yo mouth so keep tryin,
but fo the time no rap money juss illegal money,
drug money me wit my soldias on frontline,we out fo the money,
18 karats cuban link chain shine on my neck,
golden bracelet on my wrist n fuck what is lookin at man?

chorus
what if die befo i wake up,what if i die broke,
these hatnin muthafuckas wishin shit,but i stay on,
till the day i close my eyes,i ll put my bid around,
cuz i ma bonafide hustla,puttin the prices in town

em youngas sellin coke restless all the night on the strip,
whata smart asses they neva end up in the pens,they still on streets,
my crib is like the ammo house,i also have a dope house,
i own an old one produce heron,distribute all around,
keepin gangsta ey day,this is the way i follow,
if give an orda to lay him down,my shootas gon fire on,
i ma talented on this thang,street's favorite,im so gifted,
don chou laugh but i started sellin grams,we Tity in city,
keep an eye or spy me,either way i stay so fluid,
clear and out of jail,aint goin back,aint actin no foolie,
smokin doobies,bangin rookies and movin turkeys,
im cuttin throats of em partnas who turned to pussy,
at the corna you choose the color,green,brown or white,
hood shops neva close,give this green paper n get high,
money make the world go round,hustlas chasin it town,
im the king of the underground instead of crown i hold a pound

chorus