I walk the block like whatever god, my message to y'all feds
Who desperate to arrest us young, benevolent hardheads
Abrochrombie & Finch rockin', wrist glistenin' marksman
Hitchcock of Hip-Hop since Big Pop departed
The project logic is still salute the dead, glocks spit
Pour some juice out for those in Manchester, Viewmount
Otisville, Newasberg, Fort Dicks, Fort Worth, Oakdale
Every fed jail where all my dawgs lurk
War hurts much to gain 'til the day we all say
May your pain be champagne then we all blaze away
At our enemies, may they die easily
Long as they perish forever's what freedom means to me
Blowin' greenery, growing eager to see evil things
Thrown away, zonin' grey, GT, Diesel jeans
Airs and Chucks, solitaires, stones with the rarest cuts
On some Pretty Tone shit, haircut looks airbrushed
And they're aware of us though
And we don't give a flyin' 7-47 fuck though
Stayin' on my hus-tle
Nas Flow On This Was Ridiculoid
4 Mics For Me Tho
I Listen To This More Than Untitled Or Hip-Hop Is Dead