Here I Am
Yo there hiding fam
That's what they're telling us
I've been everywhere in fuckin'
Stokey like I'm Elanor
Fam, I've got a million
Stones all pebbled up
The star will tan you like a month in America
Fam I move different
Two parties, quarter ten bags on liquor
Yo fam, I really get scrilla
Nine fifth on the bobs and the
Dubz is all cheap like Bicester
Fam I got the catties bellin
Because my foods penger than Halle Berry
Fam, he's brought a bag
And he's coming for a bag already
I just blew a bag
And made it all back already
Fam, I'm certified and everybody knows
If I'm about to touch a nigga
Acting you like don't
See me I phone Ty and get Dutch on the phone
Niggas talkin real greazy and
Hes really gotta go yo, fuck club nineteen
Black gloves and a mask on a club ninety
There's like 15 bells in my gloc nineteen
Your gonna go dead before I see real
Fam, fuckin holmes I'm rate in the ends
Peng dubz, Ima hit em up eight bills a Z
And if it's seven
Take it straight back to them
Cause I ain't fuckin round with nuttin
Unless it's eight out of ten
Yo, and you know your boy gets payed
I got my license
And brought my whip the next day
Came out of the carwarsh with my nigga Flash
And now my holmes lookin like a template
And no one got stripped on
Some long train cause
I was getting shift when I
Bust his face cause
And if you don't believe me
Go read the fuckin papers
Yo, Matthew go away Go away
What you sayin go away, Go away
Being my soldier, I can make you mash quick
I get that creamy bizzle lookin latin
Fiends keep calling for the dubz
Cause my cracks piff now lemme go back in
Yo, because he got a bag or two
Thinkin that he mad payed my home boy
You ain't no where on my gangs wave
You see that one bag or two
Ask Frogz I spent all of that on champagne
You know Rimz, no flash, niggas boasy
Stacks buying like a hundred of them stoneys
I phone my boo like I'm needing a break
Then I phone a jezzy like
I'm needing some brain
Yo, even though I grind tryna see papes
Fam, I'm never to busy for some mean brain
Yo, lemme change my aspa of the whole phrase
Get in your head nigga
Really that is no point
Yeah he's got gucci and true religion jeans
My lines outing more than three Zs in a week
Yo, anything I spit you know I mean that
Fam, I rust more than three bags and fam
You talk about designers like
That's all there is i wannt a yard
I'm tryna jump on this morgage ting
Yo, yo, I just don't talk the tings
Fam I really live this life
Come and walk with Rimz
Too much fed, I've gotta be cautious
And on the other hand, streets be talkin
And you can't talk to man about food
Fam I bag up two Zs fuckin sleepwalkin
See when the drought came fuckin up the ends
See I was the only nigga with nine out of ten
Connects all hittin man, a bag for a Z
I'm sending that back if
That foods comin pressed
Yo I don't understand thousands of man
Talkin like they beat of thousands of straps
When they ain't even got a thousand in cash
Hows that possible niggas lying in their raps