i pop my trunk and everybody get to running,
the “fireman” b*tch like my body in the oven.
i’m one egg short, i’m just tryin to get a dozen.
my name like honey, it got all the b*tches buzzing.
the neck of the barrel is so long and narrow,
and it shoot a bunch, you just lunchin and munching like farrel.
bloodshot eye’s on the sparrow,
i stay high, but on-point like an arrow.
street n*gg* baby im in love with the gravel,
money gives me life like the man with the gavel
i’m straped at home, i’m strapped when i travel
i pop my trunk and make the b*tches spread like cattle
(i got king kong in the trunk)…and i feed him banana clips,
and he sing like gladys knight and the pips
im just sticking to the m*th*f*cking m*n*script,
understand im tryin to get the chips and the dip.
better know i hold that gun with a panther grip,
my hollow bullets got tips like a dancer b*tch.
where my money? where my money? you need to answer quick,
or i’ll get back on my ransom sh*t. (put him in the trunk)
so you’ll be laying ontop of speakers.
holes all in you like an old pair of sneakers.
before i do a day, on the edge, i will leap first.
bet you any money that i will land feet first.
married to the benjamins, battle all my enemies,
riding with big foot, harry, and the hendersons.
godzilla, king kong…and if i have to park,
i will open up my trunk and it wil be jur*ssic park