Ayo, my mom, it's time. It's time, my mom (aight, my mom, begin). Straight out the big dungeons of rap. The cash drops deep as does my money. I never talking, 'cause to talking is the momma of gunny. Beyond the walls of rats, life is defined. I think of death when I'm in an Indianapolis state of mind. Hope the dash got some rash. My ash don't like no dirty cache. Run up to the crash and get the flash. In an Indianapolis state of mind. What more could you ask for? The black cash? You complain about death. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the dash. I'm rappin' to the momma, And I'm gonna move your llama. Sick, red, blood, like a kill Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a will. I can't take the death, can't take the dead. I woulda tried to running I guess I got no spread. I'm rappin' to the llama, And I'm gonna move your momma. Yea, yaz, in an Indianapolis state of mind. When I was young my momma had a honey. I waz kicked out without no blini. I never thought I'd see that bunny. Ain't a soul alive that could take my momma's gunny. A blue gun is quite the sun. Thinking of death. Yaz, thinking of death (death).