Ronnie Drake

Rashad Isaiah

So don't call me a nigga, unless you call me "my nigga"
I'm a king, O.E. be slipping, falling from my chalice
Don't mind the bumpers that be missing from my carriage
It's poorly tinted, but my women not embarrassed
I came to bury you average, you feel slighted
It's like she know that I got it, it feel like it
I real life it, I spill vices
You will like it, I promise it's trill vibing, I'm honest
Nigga ain't no getting money on that conscious shit
I'mma just load my gat on some survival shit
And when I hear they got a drought on it
I take a month out of rap and I hustle 'til I'm out of it
I got that coke flow, that heat rock
I got that old school, huddle 'til the beat box
Baby, I'm just digging in your gushy for the sweet spot
I'mma beat that, 'til that mothafuckin' beat drop

I got love for my niggas, my killers
My dealers, my trickers, my bros
I got love for my sisters, my women
My bitches, my strippers, my hoes

Hope they don't kill you cause you black today
They only feel you when you pass away
The eulogy be so moving, we live the scenes of those movies
Conflicts in school or dope moving, it's so youthful
But if you die today, I hope you find some relief
In what a great escape, we still dodging from polices
When we make a plate, they be lying, searching in my bucket
With the straightest face, it could be eighty eight
Sometimes I wonder why we killers, why they killing us
I think we only wear a grill because they grilling us
Or how they feeling us, gotta look real and tough
Gotta keep your hands in the cart, know you stealing stuff
Came a long way from a boat and an auction
Now we got names and a vote, then a coffin
Ain't shit change but the coast we adopted
Little black children you can call me that nigga, nigga