Verse 1
Yo, you could throw me in a lineup rough beat 
Thick nine in my shines up 
Let it [?] rocks planet like Soul Teens 
Worth about 600,000 in the auction 
I still jog in the hills of Brazil 
Twelve eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Silva 
He’s a prized fighter and me, I’m a prized writer 
Time their industry niggas recognize fire 
Boric acid makes me rising 
Don’t stand under the tree 'cause my flow is lightness 
Some say I should be prosecuted death by lethal injection 
Electrocuted or Malcolm Xin' 
[?] bitch in the club distraction 
And if that don’t work then it’s on to the next one 
Beef we can let me cook fried to perfection 
Got the bulldogs snug [?]

Verse 2
Ayo, my moms never knew that she was nursin’ a wolf 
And I wrote this on 9/11, covered in soot 
Spittin’ tobacco out my mouth and claim over chicks 
Posting on her [?] waiting to squeeze 
They on point like the nose of a Marlin, Spartacus brothers 
Pressing out pushes and public, nigga, you stolen away 
Nowhere to run, faggot, I’ll grab your ear 
[?] stay fresh like I back again 
Goose coats, yachts, diving off of big boats 
My bitch pedicured up with a sick throat 
So cold, making you stutter 
“I-i-i c-c-can’t believe Ghost is still gutter!” 
[?]