Yo, when I meet ya, I heat ya down
When I greet ya, meet ya with pound
Not the handshake, but the kind that make ya demand a wake
The kind that put land over your face
I pop ya, let doctors stitch ya
I-N-F-R-A, will not miss ya
I move light, like my shoes too tight
Leave nikkas confused from the day to the night
At night, see the light, when the pistol's sparkin
Daytime it gets dark when that pistol barkin
I keep cash 'case cops arrest me
'case kids kidnap me, kids could get back me
You shall repent 'fore you spend a red cent
If not, you somebody up close to sin
Thou shalt not fukk with raw me, or he
Face a thousand deaths from Mr. Shawn Correy
Carter, rap harder like I'm part of a cult
Like Cuban cigar maker 'cept I'm hard to smoke
And y'all choke motherfukkers
there are so many syllables in these bars that rhyme