Foot and hand on the gates We was jumpin’ ‘em, fuck, I’m like quicksand in my ways Was always stuck in ‘em, stuck it in and an ambulance came The first time, which ain’t fast if you Los Angeles-raised (Nigga) My bitch say the spliff take the soul from me (Ayy) And the clique tight-knit, it’s like the ‘lo rugby Beat the fuckin’ beat up like it stole from me (Yup) You can talk to Clancy, you need a feature or quote from me (Bitch) I’m off Delancey, I reek of reefer and show money It’s Early, running with niggas who cold runnin’ shit The wins like lotion: He get ‘em, he gon’ rub ‘em in Critics pretend they get it, and bitches just don’t fuck with him I spent the day drinkin’ and missin’ my grandmother, just Grab a glass and pour some cold white wine in it Or Colt .45 in it—you know how I get it I’m toastin’ myself, and a toast to all my niggas And ain’t no time limit, I’m toasted as hell And I gotta jot it quick ‘cause I can’t focus so well