Fuck, night, rats
I was a kid on the bus, throwing food at the driver
Screaming at rail roads when told to be quiet
I never hesistated to give any fucks
To any of these mofuckers thinking I rap for funds
Some say, in a way, I was raised by the sun
Instead of going the church on Sundays, like some
Id stay home and sketch out gold chains and guns
And big stacks of ones and big bulky blunts
Dreams of diamonds and gold fronts
And a couple bad bitches with some fat ol butts
So now Im flicking blunt ashes on the devil as I stunt
Like Knievel to the Evel life that I truly want
They told me rap wouldnt get me far
But now Im looking back laughing cause Im out with the stars
Hella far, hella far, whatchu think bitch? Im hella far
Out right, rat pack bitch
Strictly for
Mike Coppola all up in that ass