Seven forty-six, wake up, hand on my dick
Lakers lost by thirty last night, I'm talking shit
Roll up a Backwood, killer in my spliff
Reading GQ magazine while I take a shit
Walk back to my room, wake up this bitch
Kickin' her out, dick in her mouth, that Compton shit, boy
I'm on that monster shit, boy
Chopper out the trunk, on some Compton shit, boy
I remember flipping dimes and shit
Putting five to them planes, that La Bamba shit
Dr. Dre ain't got time for this, he wearing Beats
I got my ear to the ground, lil' nigga, I'm in these streets like
Streetlights and lead pipes, up in the projects
We gon' make it out but this shit is a slow process
Lean right, keep heat tight, don't ever digest
Hollow tips where your mind rest, you forgot
They don't make niggas like me
Nah, they don't make niggas like me
They don't make niggas like me
They don't make niggas like me
Wassup