Fly

Yeah

Yeah

TCP

Yeah

I don't even know how to start this shit

Where I should start this shit

Yeah

Check me out

I said um...

Yo

A buccaneer with the buck knife

I rock a bucket like Parrish Smith, amongst life

Disparaging, when they hate to see you splurging

Amongst friends, evil lurking

Determined, to push something German

A Benz if I'm certain

Or something even bigger, feel the jitters through the curtains

And bitches get jitty when the cars look itty bitty

The high rise, let 'em overlook the city

Sipping popular, I thought that's what we worked for, but still

Some niggas got delusional when shit got real

I mean it's one thing to want it

A whole 'nother thing to find pleasure in the

Fact your man ain't got enough to flaunt it

I want it for my brother like I want it for my own

Every man for himself, true indeed, but can't condone

All the fake shit, undermine the hatred

I guess I'm just too real, uprooted to basics

When both of y'all broke, it's cool

And if your man get some money, best believe it's even cooler

But let you get some, these niggas lose they medulla

I thought this what we both wanted, but now I see how niggas on it

Friends and money

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix

It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips

Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you

You see the real when that money come into the picture

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix

It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips

Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you

You see the real when that money come into the picture

Fake friends, real money

Fake friends, real money

Fake friends, real money

Yeah, it can never mix

Gun Rule in this bitch, where guns ruling this shit

Like tongues moving with lips, I told 'em I'm on my shit

Shit-shit-shit-shit hit the fan

Blow the show and flip a fan

Told the baller ball and ball

My balling point, kick the can

South BX, I'm out, P.S

Tell 'em what we 'bout, GS

3 Out, 3 left, feet out the chest

It's obvious, you count me less, you out, he next

These dingy niggas call it rap, they shout a mess

They talk shit on the internet, think they all could get out of net

Yes, it's Gunna, brothers keep a tool

A young mula bitch slumming and re-pursuing

Y'all gon' need our manure

Who are you fooling? Cool it, doofus

Or do it toothless, I'm stupid as Uncle Rufus

A stool is stooping, I'm mucus, the music that you compute with

To shoot it, mute me, excuse me, just mute it, shoot me

Back in the day, it was A-B-C, now I'm down my 1-2-3

Militia men, fishermen, split shit for fishes

Fin, my knishes, your bitch conditioning

Hell's Kitchen to that Michelin mission in Michigan

Position for richin', I'm finna twist my ignition in

It's dramatic, DiBiase, he ain't got no sense with him

Dog man, only Willy the Kid is the kin to him

Young Money, Cash Money, imprinted in synonyms

Got niggas sick of them like, "Yo

How the fuck they give him to them?"

Catch me on any corner store in America blending in

I ain't from it, go on, fuck it, my plan is the Benjamin, nigga

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix

It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips

Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you

You see the real when that money come into the picture

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix

It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips

Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you

You see the real when that money come into the picture

Fake friends, real money

Fake friends, real money

Fake friends, real money

Yeah, it can never mix

You know, I just don't think I've ever given me a chance to be me

But, of course, interestingly, at the exact same moment that

I achieved what'll probably prove to be my life's work

That's the moment when I started being the real me finally