[Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs]
50 dollar fingertips, 100 dollar thumbs
I break my sh** down and make sure I bag up all the crumbs
Up in the steamer, hella smokey with a couple guns
They pull us over, we gon' park this b**h and dump and run
Hundred drums, leave n***as wasted for insufficient funds
Waiting at your place for you, playing Playstation with your son
I know your wife; on Thursday nights my aunty do her hair
Don't make me turn this sh** into a family affair
Not impressed by most of the sh** that most of these n***as spitting
When n***as drop, these interviewers ask me, do I feel 'em
But if you f** with Gangsta Gibbs then you know the business
f** the rap game and all the p**y n***as in it
b**h im still pitching, I flip at a steady pace
They ain't come back for the 'caine, they came back for the base
And new n***as get jacked for living lame
Cells in my brain get flamed, my name manifests pain
All I do is write verses and wrap a rubberband
Roll a '84 and roll up a wood in my other hand
And I f** with felons, don't f** with the FEDs
They know I'm selling something, ain't nobody selling CDs
Another trick up my sleeve, another b**h that I'm sticking
Introduced her to sniffing and dick in different positions
Got introduced to some friends and zip out the zip, I was flippish
Your daughter sniffing a Vick today, she need intervention
That's some cold sh**
Fred, you must've been smoking water when you wrote this
Now I'm in Brooklyn, back from Gary fresh off a dope flip
Do the speed limit, keep it pushing, and never smoke sh**
Called up Dominican H and told him I was posted
Babyface...