[Intro]
What up, Midwest?
They forgot about the fourth coast
It ain't nothing though
What up Arkansas, Minnesota, Kansas?
Kentucky, Missouri, everybody in the Lou'!

[Verse 1]
Thinking bout Guy Fisher
Never met him, but God damn, that's my n***a!
I figure real estate invested pie flipper
Never snitch, me, I'm in a bathrobe, fly slippers (I-80)
Left Chicago with good money for 5 drops
Westside, did the Southside like the White Sox (What up Stony Island?)
Van Buren, Pulaski, K-Town is contra (Westside)
They'll dearly depart ya, in front of MacArthur's (What up Madison?)
I'm the author for gangsters, tough guys
Did the whole Ohio, but I started off a Buckeye
Columbus to 'Nati; them towns I raped 'em
Few clowns was hatin', moved my pounds to Dayton
And in Akron, my n***as they would throw things
Not King James, these were coke kings
And you acting grown, doggy you ain't back at home
The smack, it's on, wrapped in chrome
You better get a chaperone
[Hook]
If you know like I know, you should lie low
Killa, I used to get it in Ohio
Don't forget the Chi though, guns are like a pyro
You keep playing, you will look like a gyro

[Verse 2]
Go 'head and hate me hater
Cause I'm flyer than a aviator?
Well, you'll get smacked with the radiator
And I get catered player. "Wanna talk?" "Maybe later."
Told her, her time was up, '88 her, Flavor-Flaved her
Need your neck choked; rather, your neck broke
You dead broke, yes folks, the jewels are like egg yolks
And you'll get yoked up, switchblade-poked up
Bitch-made since 6th grade, he need his rope cut
Cowboy roped up, "y'all boys sold what?"
Know what? Dope, crack, and coke is in the coat tucked
Roll up, hold up, family, this a hold up!
Get close up, soaked up, I'm KG, post up
Ho, slut, no love, turn beef to cold cuts
Family getting bread, well he about to get his loaf cut
Y'all doped up, this game is sewed up
Malcolm X: tell the white bitch, "Yo, I want my toes sucked"

[Hook]
If you know like I know, you should lie low
Killa, I used to get it in Ohio
Don't forget the Chi though, guns are like a pyro
You keep playing, you will look like a gyro
[Verse 3]
I'd rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6
My 12 and 12 -- well, they carry my bricks
And them 12-12 fiends, they're married to sniff
And the V12, that's on various trips
Y'all make a brother laugh, me I took another path
Come into my habitat, hovercrafts, bubble baths
Duffle bags stuffed with cash, fell in love with math
I got the green Benz, red Range, mustard Jag
White coke, tan dope, black gun, trey deuce
Silver bullets, purple piff, blue pills, Grey Goose
Pull out the rat-tat-tat
Duck duck, say goose
Beige coupe, suede roofs, send him up to Jesús (Jesus)
H-deuce, yea yea, piss off the state troops
See me, then they don't, I disappear, say, "poof"
Play Zeus, homeboy, get a replaced tooth
Not Pac, mean dust when a n***a say, "juice"
Killa!