My Movado says seven, the God hour, that's if you follow
Traditions started by the school not far from the Apollo
My 'fukk tomorrow' motto through the eyes of Pablo
Escobar, the desperado, word to Cus D'Amato
His flow was just
on this one
Some nikkas watch you
See you when you think you on the low
Ain't hard to spot you, you swore to keep it real after you blow
Three keys, new V's, went to Anguilla with your ho
Stayed around the hood, smoothest cat getting the dough
Them oldtimers advise you to them problems that's ahead
Drama with the Feds, not listening just bobbing your head
Your Roley shining, thinking to yourself 'nobody's taking mine'
At the same time your ho is getting snatched from behind
Put in a van, where's the hundred grand, strippin' her hand
From all the ice, wouldn't you know
You knew these nikkas all your life
What made them mark you victim
You fukked up somewhere down the line
Now they had to target your Wisdom
She took 'em to your place, straight to your safe
You doubted it could happen, sick of yapping
Jump in your ride, headed to your side
Puffin' ganja, get to your crib, can't find her
Just a reminder: shouldn't have your stash house where you crash out
Could have passed out, your coke was gone, now you assed out
Dead bytches tell no lies, you should use your eyes
The imagery
