Lyrics

[Verse 1: Chris Rivers] When I was five-years-old, pops had the Glocks in the stove Run around and out for fifties, that's the cops in the cold Stackin' feta green, double-platinum (-) and leather seams Stack more cheddar better than fellas who praisin' Halloween All for the love of show money, that VAT money That trap money, packin'-MACs-in-back-of-the-Ac' money Niggas act funny, but know ha-ha shit I been post since age six, startin' some rah-rah shit When I get it backwards, I rap words that crack Earth Niggas stack birds, I cry for a collapsed Earth Fuck it, rap nerd, 'bout to get it like crack worth Niggas spit like he vomit in comets, or that's (-) Get the hustle in my veins, got the muscles in my brain Ain't no puzzles in this game, you put in work a state of shame See the SeaBus lights, sinkin' mikes and I ain't eatin' right I don't want to wait until I die broke to see the light I wore Cadillacs from rappin' raps, spit words like acrobats Backflip, rich (-) give you cataphracts Mom, I need the mansion by the body of water So I bodied this verse, then I body your daughter Sexually, I'm on the road to riches Bitches'll act when he talkin' Swiss Bank accounts'll make you (-) to (-) I'm just a cool G that raps, tryin' to see these stacks And bring hip-hop back, fuck all the memory [Verse 2: Styles P] Yo, Chris passed the shit to master it Got a light, point at the house and gas the shit And I ain't even halfway pissed, I'm hazardous Gun pop right up in your (-) Let me slow down, make it a ghost town Probably with a goon-nigga smokin' a roach down It's the killer on the West Side Highway, tu madre And get battered down like a plate for the Padres Benz color the Garvey, not for lookin' I don't know the plug name, but he's Hector-lookin' What's the price? Never too much, never too much You ain't for much, gun at the trainer tearin' your core up Lane with a pump on a bump of your tour bus Keep talkin' shit, my nigga, and get your jaw cut Or your whore fucked like a prostitute Plug one like pasta (-) If it's beef, then I gots to shoot, gots to stab Keepin' it hundred, who want to get chopped in half? Nobody, I know this, I did lots of math You ain't gots to touch the work, you ain't got the cash And I left the wax home, but I got the hash And Chris got the guns, I got the mass Like M.O.P., nigga, yeah, we gots to mash Guess you niggas find out when you pop in half