[Verse 1]
Lifestyles of the insane
Eastside thug nigga, I'm the shit, you a shit stain
I let the boxframe switch lanes
Not a pretty nigga, but I got some game for a bitch brain
And I lay it on so thick
Charge it all to a broad, heard a pimp nigga quote this
And I'm allergic to a broke bitch
I think I need my medicine, I had to po' up 'fore I wrote this
And doing dirty keep a nigga with a deep pocket
Dope fiends and the cluckheads keep shopping
Steady praying that the yayo keep locking
Keep a strap cause the jackboys keep robbing
Got me pulling up slow
Whip another clip and put my pedal to the floor
Slamming Cadillac doors, working wood like a pro
Ass sit on nothing but that leather, whatcha know, how you living, nigga?
Lifestyles of the insane
Roll the kill, pop a pill, crack a seal, I resist pain
Niggas looking for that big stain
Dirt weed, dog food, fye kush, niggas flip 'caine
Think I lost my religion
Stepping on a pack, break 'em off in the kitchen
Chevy topped off with the chrome in the engine
Niggas gotta floss, that's the cost of this pimping, I'ma pull up slow
[Hook]
I'ma pull up slow
Candy paint dripping from my Cadillac door
I'ma pull up slow, I'ma pull up slow
Run up with the mask, put them hoes on the floor
I'ma pull up slow, I'mma pull up slow
Run up with the mask, put them hoes on the floor
I'ma pull up slow, I'ma pull up slow
Candy paint dripping from my Cadillac door
I'ma pull up slow
[Verse 2]
It's the muddy cup moonwalker, nightstalker
Motherfucking white chalker, might've caught ya
In the streets with your pants down
Tell 'em call the paramedics, nigga man down, ease up
If you thugging, get your Gs up
And never fake, never fraud, never fold, never freeze up
A black mask, black tee'd up
The motherfucking dope game feed us, how you living, nigga?
And rest in peace to my motherfucking homeboy
But hold your tears, he ain't die, he just a fuckboy
You might as well be a dead man in my eyes
2-2-3, sucker-free when I ride
Freddie Kane, Freddie Corleone
Selling things to the smokers in the mobile homes
A pack of backwoods, dirty styrofoam, and a pocket full of stones
And my Cadillac Brougham, I'ma pull up slow
[Hook]
compositores: Freddie Gibbs, Garland Maxwell Frith
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