People change form the hunners They see a couple numbers They all get gassed But don’t share it wid there mothers Making bread bread wid all my brothers trust me we really from the gutters We ain’t got time for no lovers No time to snooze I had a dream like Martin Luther king that the feds would free up all the brothers from the wing still I’m the bando wrapping up in cling and if a ops tryna ride out he can hole dis ching pick up the bag den it’s straight to the flats wake up in the morning and I’m serving the cats sitting in the bando wid all of dem racks gotta flip the bread no time to relax All these little pagons I ain’t playing no games Is cash o’clock No time for no fakes No time for no snakes No time for mistakes I’m racing to my goal no need for brakes Gotta whip it Gotta flip it Gotta chase the bag Money on my mind so I have to make dem racks People snake people fake ain’t got time for dem rats And we pull up wid smoke and dats just facts I was raised in a city i was raised in the borough Gotta flip the pack ain’t got time for a lover Every day it’s a rush hour ,like Chris tucker Still got all dis bread not the kind u eat with butter I was grinding since 13 and still I’ll carrying on All these kilos in the bando gotta get dem gon If u say there mashing trust me bro ur wrong They always capping even in there song I just wanna smoke my weed and Meditate If I see a op boy won’t Hesitate Pull the wap out and make him Leviate I try make the most cuz I can die anyday