227 What else? Let's get it Mr. Bo Jackson, got the coldest of the spin moves when I send blues OT action, gotta pay attention to the street signs and the symbols Upside-down peace signs stitched in the seats of the Benzo Ducking dumb time on the east side with a six-three of that Brenda No weak links in the chain, never lit the flame, can't be rekindled No tiddlywinks, all [?] and I'm the missing link to that [?] Known art of evils that men do to make this shit a lot more simple Red-dot a nigga like a Hindu, headshot'll kiss him in his temple Singing niggas lullabies, choppa cuttin' slice like a Ginsu Teaching niggas how to pimp a butterfly, not let a butterfly pimp you Wrist a brick of blow fare, don't go nowhere without the yistol Toast to the smoke, I grossed the most end of the fiscal Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine From Lower East to Michigan aboarding private jets Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press" Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success? What else? Worked pretty as a bitch in a pageant Heard he got caught with a chirp, that ain't no civil infraction Big four-fifth givin' captions, we control the strip, no traction Trey five-seven in my hoop, shorts two-sport legend, Bo Jackson Two-twenty-seven to the fifty zone, two-four-seven, no lackin' Old English D on the fitty, reppin' fourth letter, Anglo-Saxon Gangin' them, all they know is rackin', sellin' dope and trappin' Puttin' pain in, post crackin' Gang shit, but ain't no stackin' No flockin' Finna up the scope, catch him and we fap him Put him on the flow If you really gang then you know what happened When I dropped him Get a nigga changed for a couple scruples Hit him with the Allen wrench, heard that nigga got a couple screws loose Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine From Lower Eastern Michigan to boardin' private jets Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press" Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success? What else?