If dead men could talk in your sleep
And your homie told u who got him
Would you have the heart to shoot the nigga that shot him
Or would you start switchin up
You thinking about the penitentiary, you bitchin up!
What if he said money ain't everything
The hood raised us wrong
What it takes to get your money
But look I'm gone
Would that touch your heart have you feelin funny inside
Would that be enough to make your punk azz ride
What if he gave you a lil list of things to do
Said he wouldn't have to die
He could live through you
Would you load your gats and get ready to ride
Or would you lock the door at your crib and hide
It's a cold world even when it's hot outside
Whether sunshine or rain, you still feel pain
Hid him cause he was your strength
Now you in a trance
Your homie turnin over in his grave
Cause you PUZZY!

Them boys smoked your homie
You ain't gon do nothin back
Not even if he told you, you next to get clapped
It don't take much for them shells to make the best of you
Your peoples probably gon cremate and burn the rest of you
You done did too much dirt to try and make it to heaven
Nigga is you down for this 1-8-7
When you reach the pearly gates
How you gon explain
You gonna try and tell God you've been framed
Ya'll did everything together, he was your dog
Now you uptown coppin and he in the morgue

They say puzzy and paper is poetry, power and pistols
Plotting on murderin motherphuckers 'fore they get you
Picturing pitiful punk niggas copping pleas
Puffing weed as I position myself to clock G's
My enemies scatter in suicidal situations
Never to witness the wicked sh-t that they was facin
Pockets is packed with presidents, pursue your riches
Evading the playa hating tricks, while hitting switches
B1tches is bad-mouth, cause brawlin motherphuckers is bold
But charge them hoes; the game should be sold
The sickest psychotic society somebody save me
Addicted to drama so even mama couldn't raise me
Even the preacher and all my teachers couldn't reach me
I run in the streets and puffing weed wit my peeps
I'm ducking the cops, I hit the weed as I'm clutching my Glock
Niggas is hot when I hit the block, what if I die tonight?

Polish your pistols, prepare for battle, pass the pump
When I get to popping niggas is dropping then they done
Calling the coroner come collect the phucking corpse
He got hit by a killer, preoccupied with being boss
Revenge is the method, whenever steppin keep a weapon close
Adversaries are overdosed over deadly notes
Jealous niggas and broke b1tches equal packed jails
Hit the block and fill your pockets making crack sales
Picture perfection pursuing paper with a passion
Visions of prisons for all the puzzies that I blasted
Running with criminals individuals with no remorse
Try to stop me my pistol posse's using deadly force
In my brain all I can think about is fame
The police know my name, a different game, ain't a thing changed
I'm seeing cemetary photos of my peers
Conversating like they still here, if I die tonight