Every king will be crowned, trust me

This marathon shit, so let′s see who first to the finishIf it's less than a hundred racks, it don′t deserve your attention

'Cause burdens come with it, my second test was servin' a sentence

My first was make a brick jump like it was hurdlin′ fences

Certainly, my last shit was a courtesy, nigga

And further, we had bustdowns before you heard of me, nigga

Shoeboxes stacked with racks sittin′ vertically in 'em

I′m fresh out of luck, I'm here ′cause I deserve to be, nigga

I sat back, a vet, and watched beginners winnin' my belts

Burned my bridges, came back a good swimmer like Phelps

You know the feeling, young black male, what y′all dealin'?

Take your whole life to get it, it only last you a minute

In the kitchen countin' cash with cats with backward agendas

Put a Benz in the brick, then toss it back in the blender

That was us, next to a big like I was Puff

The good die young, all the OGs thirty and up

In Alexander McQueen kicks just to dirty ′em up

Money tree, branches break when they not sturdy enough, uh

See, I was good with the bad guy role

Water in my jewels, put ′em on and baptize hoes

Walk in my shoes, we got Shaq-sized soles (Huh)

We flatline those wack rap niggas wearin' half-sized clothes

What′s the dealy? I'm only ′bout six hours from Philly

That's an hour on the plane, I′ll make it three in the Bentley

My bitch keep sayin' I'm famous, but it ain′t hit me

I′m too ghetto, mellowed out, this Hollywood shit tricky

See, before I knew an A&R, I was weighin' hard

Back when Nicki Minaj was in a trainin′ bra

You play this game, you better play hard

The judge'll give you life and later that day, he gon′ be playin' golf

I′m from that era, we don't pay it if you weighed it wrong

Back when your parents got your baby shoes plated bronze

We took hip-hop and made it ours

I sold quarters, just so happens I'm the author of your favorite songs

They bullshitted me, I played along

More bars then them niggas who got hit with the Reagan laws

Let′s go

Yo, when we was hooked in the hood, gettin′ booked like literature

Kept us shook, like when the boogieman comin' to get ya

We was crooks, tryna cop more rides than Great Adventure

Any image we took, not a father was in the picture

There was times, not a bite nor swallow was in the kitchen

Real niggas made a industry out of they intuition

Facin′ the darkest outcome, sprintin' to outrun the reaper

Trying not to be the food in the mouth of the beast

For whom the bell tolls

Crown kings in Adidas suits and shell toes

We had to throw a lot of body blows and elbows

Wishin′ we could get from Snyder Ave to Melrose

Without the Dapper Dan bodybags and jail clothes

That warned niggas not to lollygag when Hell rose

We railroaded through the thicker things for gold chains and chicken change

No one throwin' flames, there′s growin' pains when in the game

And the blow, ashes in the snow, it's no remains

Push the wheel as fast as it could go, we overcame the obstacles

But when you official, the block miss you

Even if the old crew choose not to rock with you

We was blue-black, stuck in the glue trap

I had to pull my own self up by the bootstrap

Where everybody play they own part like a tooth gap

And old heads teach the young hitters to shoot back

I been livin′ proof that the pressure make precious stones

And real clairvoyant savants remain less unknown

But anybody who question you, send a message to ′em

I see my seat at the table to be a blessed throne

Triumph and tragedy, his majesty muscle never atrophied

The devil is a casualty, sucker, you're never catchin′ me

Even though you been after me, motherfucker

You gotta bring a army to harm me, I occupy the capacity up

Decapitator of a hater in this modern day

My dossier no less, dealer spray Courvoisier

I'm Jean-Paul Gaultier, Tom Ford, and Cartier

Self-made, I fly vintage from the sommelier

On reserve, flowin′ from the blackest fountain

It's all love from public housin′ to the Atlas Mountains

I've established the average to always bat a thousand

So after butcherin' this track, it′s back to countin′

The money generated from me leavin' microphones broke

Probably almost on par with all of Escobar′s coke

When I'm finished, I′ma keep a tennis shoe on y'all throat

Just in case you mention in a interview you want smoke, nigga

Two Fifteen