My shooters shoot like Kobe I ain’t got a lot of homies I be kinda lonely I stay in a small group day ones only We be shooting the Glock like a movie Glock sitting under the bed Money in my hands Choppa make his back bend When I shoot my Glock he shoulda yelled full send Caught my first body when I was only 10 U must be thinking that I’m wrong All my brothas eat All yo brothas starve Cuban dripping hard Flipping through my money like a book it’s very long Halley street steppers baby it’s the mob All I speak is facts so I just put it in a song Back in school I was hiding knifes up in my Tim’s I don’t lay it up I get my wrist above that rim