text: Hot box with a paper tag on it
  Your baby brother used to be my crash dummy
  Dont call my phone if it aint bout cash money
  I dont wanna talk if it aint bout cash money
  I got a lot of shooters round me and they hungry
  He sold a zip and now he acting like he Tony
  I be chasing after money like Im homeless
  I had to leave that bitch alone cause she was bogus
  Put a 100 on your head
  Now a nigga dead
  You niggas know that Young Savage will paint the city red
  I dont want to do no song with these niggas cause they scared
  Draco on the seat I keep that Draco on the seat
  Molly, percs and weed you know these bitches like to eat
  Slaughter gang, we slaughter hoes cause half these bitches freaks
  All the shit Ive been through man it change a young G
  Thats why I keep that hundred round drum around me
  Thats why I keep a lot of fucking guns around me
  If you aint with the gang you better not come around me
  All that motherfucking leechin, aint no bummin round me
  You like that pillow talk but niggas shoot for fun around me
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  They robbin round my way
  Shootin around my way
  Aint nothing sweet, you better keep a gun around my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  They robbin round my way
  Shootin around my way
  Aint nothing sweet you better keep a gun around my way
  Round my way
  Round my way
  Round my way