Goin In

[Verse 1: Freck Billionaire]

Street fam Freck, bitches want their memberships
I hit the first night, and then I can’t remember shit
Oh yeah, except for that I crushed her friend
I blow a hundred stacks quicker than a gust of wind
Been on the back streets way before Nick Carter
I use the armor hammer just to make the brick harder
You see, I can get you drugs galore
My name alone got pull like tug of war
Talking more pull than tow away
I get your block sprayed up with the throw away
Got plenty cash to blow away
That’s why they see me on them boats like a stowaway
Any club I come to, bitch, I bring G’s
I stay peeling on them hoes, like string cheese
New tourbillion looking real fancy
I just wear it to let the haters and the fans see
Ask A. Rod he a tell you who the top paid
I can’t drive it in the rain, the top suede
I still got an open bounty
I say OC, I don’t mean Ocean County
Occis X you know I get them Sanex in
West Philly get you peeled like banana skin
I throw my man a hand sign like he deaf-mute
I bet he won’t even blink, he a just shoot
Two or three weeks later they a find the body
So I ride with two K’s like kamikaze
And I ain’t scared to let the rifle bang
Bitch, I let it bang like rival gangs
Don’t get it twisted, nah, I don’t wear a flag
But disrespect me and your toe will wear a tag
I’m a CBL street family dude
Got the clips loaded, bitch, bring the family feud

Y’all know who it is, nigga
Mr. Fresher than the prince, nigga
I was rocking that Gucci when y’all was rockin that Guess shit, nigga
I been doin this, nigga, c’mon

[Verse 2: Freck Billionaire]
Look, look, ey look
Nowadays see I’m careful when I but weight
They got the cameras on my team like Spygate
Eleven rings like Bill Russell
The top question: Freck, why do you still hustle?
First I say, I let you count the sheet, nigga
Then I tell em, all this Gucci ain’t cheap, nigga
Just ‘cause you probably seen me on the YouTube
Don’t get it twisted, I’m nothing like you dudes
I will have the car circling
Thirty shots ‘ll smoke you like turkey wings
For every one shot, it’ll leave two holes
You have a tag on your toe like new clothes
A street fam boy strapped like straitjackets
See something that they like and just straight jack it
So either way you in a lose-lose
Six pallbearers, a bunch of boo-hoo’s
Got the young hustlers rushing like Klitschko
West Philly, you know I got them bricks low
And when I say the low’s I don’t mean the telly
I keep that Louis on my back, but my name ain’t Nelly