R. Cali
Niggas pistol popping like it's 1999
I was 9, maybe 10, then again never mind
Press rewind, back in time, before rappers dropping dimes
Trap or die, chopping pies, with clichйs all in they rhymes
Now it's Gucci, Prada and anything designer
Money, power, the whole enchilada
Commas, dollars, the greens and the guava
They serve you to your flocka
If you disrespect that blocka, blocka
Choppers on eavesdroppers
Fuck these choppers I'm about it
Grinding like 2Pac with Biggie Poppa
Yeah, you outer but I'm hotter, right
Carjacking, pistol packing, motherfucking choppers clapping
Metal jacket automatic magazines head on traffic
Window smashing, windows crashing
Pants sagging, fuck your fashion
Yeah, a nigga run Manhattan
Back in Cali's where it happen
It's Gucci, Escada, and anything designer
Groupies, poppers, they all gonna swallow
It was probably the robbers, the goons and the goblins
They hating a lot, medulla oblongata
Maserati like Atari with no car keys, push to start it
New Buggatti, two Bugattis
Tesla Roadster, new Ferrari
Lamborghini, system bumping
Me no worried, Rastafari
This the hardest supersonic
Systematic, too retarded
New Versace, new apartment
Bigger closet, newer carpet
Hit departments, cool it all
Must set my goal if you accomplish
Shoot a target, you the target
Moving targets, new accomplish
Kill the game but still regardless
Beat the charges, do the honors