No Glory (from "State Property" soundtrack)

[Verse 1:]
I been seeing crack rock, since the age of thirteen
Out the same crack spot to the same damn dope fiends
Burnt up glass and the coke screens
You know that balled up cash where that dough cream
Hit the block before the birds start chirping
Scope the set before I serve one person
In between cars, never out in the open
I don't trust vans and I hate black suburbans
Crack that I'm serving, pure buck tour, nigga
Uncut raw, nigga. I don't fuck with bake
I don't never get stuck with weight
Open shot, every smoker with' a straight, brush my gate
You ain't making no dough 'cause you stretching your shit
Fuck trying to make more, dog, I'm stressing to flip
Keep smokers on them red caps, stressing to hit
Dope fiends with they hair back, catching they drip
I'm trying to show you where the bread at. You catching my drift?
But I see where your head at, you stressing to bitch
Give me that hot plate and pyrax pop
Shit, I'll show you how to fire that rock, supply that block
Pee pop set up shop, with' a half a block
Lock down half the block
Turn that half a block to other half his' block
Then I'll lock down the other half a block...

[Verse 2:]
I don't give a fuck about the chatter in the background
Never put my straps down, nigga
This is Mack Town, nigga
Ask around, bitch nigga I never was
Kept leather gloves and the 38 tar snub
On the real, ya niggaz don't know me
Don't get found in the lake with' eight shots like Kobe
It's the Gouch, what you talking bout homie? /
I'll make your bus stop short like Gary Coleman
"I got more pots and strips then you..." (I make it hot)
"... niggaz won't even sell nicks to you." (not a rock) /
I spit phrases that'll thrill you
I got gats with' clips with' lasers that'll kill you
Got myself an uzi brother, nuzi two nines
These thugs gon' getcha (getcha), slugs gon' hit cha
"I got more gats and tecs than you..." (I'll make it hot)
"... niggaz won't even stand next to you" (I tear the rock)
When I clap down, back down your wack friends
For that "Cash Money, " pull out "Mack 10's"
Intro tef, I'm twenty-two (uh)
You dudes ain't worth it, keep them funny jewels (whoa!)...

I'm so street like asphault
I spit shit like my ass talk, dog, it's Mack Mittens
Don't make me raise up and put my hands on you
A house sellin raids nigga, I'll put my grams on you
Man, I'm so fucking deep in the game
Got one foot to the street, the other feet to the fame
I'm seesaw, trying to balance shit out
Until then, I got a six gon' silence shit out
Wanna make the transition, from the street to the fame
But I can't let it weaken my game, man listen
Picture Mac flipping like a transmission
Little nickels, with' slick fifty's trying to stick me
Knowing one shot from a glock could stop my injured block
So I quickly move, oars like Jiffy Lube
Never-had-it niggas and half the fact that niggas
Snortin'-magic niggas or the court ratting niggas