[Verse 1: Roman Grimsley]
What the f**'s this n***a Roman talking about
The west side's new omen, chalking them out
Heard you popping off sh** from out your lips
That's how you get the taste of timbs up in your grill
I'm so tired of these clones, that think that they 2Pac
Dream like Martin Luther, but stick like dirty tube socks
(Ugh) n***a now you got
A single shell in your medulla, sitting in a pool of
Blood