[Verse] (00:43)
An one man Mafioso on graveyard shift/
In this mob deep, you slobs eat what the graveyard left/
Over, it's over, missing your head and your shoulders/
It's bars over everything, sk**s appeal, need a chauffeur/
To carry me over, from flow to flow/
Bar-after-bar delivering blow after blow/
Like a dope dealer gettin' head, that's a blow for blow/
Hand on the Sharpie for this 16 that I wrote/
Present tense meaning write, for these lines leave a smoke/
Trail, don't inhale; see you in Hell if you fail/
To hold your breath long enough, tried to act hard & tough/
Till he became soft and got crumbled like a Dixie cup/
Shout out to the West Coast, over here's the Beast Coast/
This is the coast for them beasts, and we finna feast yo/
Tumbling weed growth, lil' homie we need those/
Trynna put a handle on weed laws so brothas can't breed more/
They rather prefer if we stuck with the criminal moniker/
No more doing what's right, cause they'll be more to offer us/
Better growth and achievements with a bigger establishment/
Trynna turn around the issues, but I guess they're not having it/////////////
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