Uh, yeah, the Butcher coming, nigga

I walk in the room

Niggas can feel that pressure when I walk in, niggaLike you saw the devil, yo, look

I was born in ′84, but I'm like ′97 Hov

I went platinum off a brick, I cooked on 97 stoves

Yeah, I know the streets is watching so I'm highly skeptical

Where I'm at in my career, one hit and I′ll be set to go, uh

Duct tape for the blocks, black tape for the strap

Bentley in the parking lot, ashtray full of pack

Had dreams of retiring and burying the money

Back when I was young with more experience than money

On my Georgetown shit, rock the blue Hoya

When they snatched my niggas up, I got a new lawyer

They start off young so they shoot for you, I groom ′em

Soon they become their own bosses and recruit for you

It's not a such thing as too loyal

This gat melt your favorite rapper Patek into a pool for you

You think you nice, well, I got news for you

I get ′em chewed for you, what's funny when every rapper food to you

My bitch asking me to settle down

I was reckless at selling brown, she know I′m finally on level ground

I'm tryna change, but in my head it′s sounds

Telling me I can be El Chapo instead of Kevin Liles

Freestyle for Clue, I feel like '97 Hov

It was '96, he pulled up in that ′97 Rov′, uh

Drove it back and forth, done went through 97 tolls

Real stories 'bout drug money got me extra stoned, uh

By the time they learn to love me, I′ll be dead and gone

Real hustlers treat them rentals like they second home

First double up, thirty dollars, seven stones

See, I fucked it up, but that whole play set the tone

You real angry

You know why I'm mad? Let me tell you why I′m mad

I'm mad because everybody on these records lying

Everybody′s lying, everybody's this big D-boy

Everybody's these hardcore gangsters

Everybody gon′ do this to each other when they see each other

And truth be told, we too blessed, and we be having too much money

In this rap game to be going to war with each other

Right, okay

And the truth be told

Don′t nobody wanna fight nobody in this rap game

'Cause 98% of these dudes is colleagues

Check, one, two

The butcher coming, nigga

Brr, let′s go

We pull up, jumping out them V12 engines, detail kitted

Females with us

The hoes driving like it ain't got no seat belts in it

Uh huh, woo, yeah

That′s it right there, yo, uh

We pull up, jumping out them V12 engines, detail kitted

Females with us

The hoes driving like it ain't got no seat belts in it

The block look like it got seashells in it

The beam on the SIG flashing like it got an unread email in it

They try their best to stop us, we still winning

I run the shit in my Versace

Chain reactions ′til my feet swell in 'em

Gold digger, deep pussy, I park the CL in it

Never pay for pussy, just pay for meals just to be fair with her

I hit the breaks, but wait, the light 'bout to change

Realizing what I′m driving and how my life ′bout to change

When I die, go to TV Johnny and ice out the grave

I make these bitches sign contracts and write out they names

Shit, I learned from how Juanita tricked Mike out his change

Huh, my ex shed, I still ain't get the lights out her name

The Feds want the whole BSF, wiped out the gang

′Cause what the grams cost, I been getting twice out in Maine

My watch look like a lighthouse, that's right, I′ll explain

Blue faces, and I ain't have ′em bring the price down to pay

I had some young niggas slide through with pipes 'round your way

Have 'em posted up with sticks like it′s a strike ′round your way

Uh, you can only judge me by who you see me with

I turned a deuce to a six, did Houdini tricks

Tell these niggas keep my name out they greedy lips, uh

'Cause they don′t want no static with Griselda by Fashion Rebels

The Butcher, nigga