I got seven MAC-11's, about eight 38's Nine 9's, ten MAC-10's, the shits never ends You can't touch my riches Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches Zakora, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks That's how I got the weedspot I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread Little Andy got the shotty to your body So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas I tote guns, I make number runs I give MC's the runs drippin' when I throw my clip in The AK, I slay from far away Everybody hit the D-E-C-K My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Arabo Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffed the yayo That's crazy blunts, mad L's My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells Oh my God, I'm dropping shit, like a pigeon I hope you're listenin', smacking babies at they christenin'