They Jack Frost with the Glock they some cold shooters, police put a hundred bullet holes through, hands up is like them speaking code to you, we want change like it’s motherfucking owed to ya, I don’t understand, when you colored man you get treated like a running man, we shake back like rubber bands, but we still being hunted man that’s cuz we ain’t got a Hunnid grand, boy we cursed as hell and I know I ain’t the first to tell, on tracks I am versatile, just showing you I’m hurt as hell we get murked or we go to jail…back to the dirt or we go to hell, its stupid shit anyway hands up like I rock the crowd, and a nigga paranoid when I’m off the loud, and a nigga real humble and awful proud, when it come to dis police be ludacris and I’m pissed offa stupid shit, they get ruth-less when yo car be roof-less,