S.T.R.

[Verse]
Young ignant, airplane as fuck
My story nonfiction
I ain't making this up
They say hate is a reflection of your success
Well in that case I don't think niggas hating enough
Yeah I heard your shit
Ever consider hanging it up
In the Hall of Fame I pitch it up
We hanging it up
Cash rules everything around me
If I answer and it ain't about bread
I'm hanging it up
I'm so in love with this live
Lately it's been a rush
On my grown man shit
I look wavy up in a tux
Its your opinion dog
You couldn't pay me to give a fuck
Don't figure the Z you ain't me nigga the jig is up
The money and the fam like a weigh in
Just me and my fucking brothers like the Wayans
Opportunity the clique full circle tightening
And the bitches with it so
You know they're looking for a way in
In my city I'm heavyweight, you gon need a weigh in
Labels like this is heavyweight we gon need to pay him
I mean I ain't think so anything under 6 figures nigga I didn't know
Kings amongst kings that's how my clique rolls
These other cliques is too tired like a bicycle
Grinding but I'm on some fly shit though
In my king size bed is where them dime chicks go
I only mess with fine thick hoes
Bitches I be playing mind tricks on
Show them the life and let their mind get blown
Get their few seconds of fame like a vine clip show
Two different color Benz's
Feeling like a chauffeur I got dumb bitches in back
Reezy in this cranberry joint
I'm on my slave master shit
Cause the one I'm whipping is black