[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...