In My Bag (Auto Tune Remix)

(Album: Flamers 2 - 2009)

Grand Hustle ya that's my clique
Omelly ya that's my goon
All I got to do is point and watch him pop you like balloon
Shout out my nigga Meech, Pmon that's my dawg too
I be fucking bitches and it's like he fuck 'em all too
We ball through, she call me I hang up she call you
He look at me smiling and I be like she wilding
We styling SRT, Cherokee be growling
Me I wear that wrist shot like I signed a deal with Prada
My motto MOB I been about a dollar
I'm [?] to cop Maserati you 'bout to go Marauder
You nigga fucking with the wrong one
Short temper long gun, I do this for the long run
If I don't have a million by the type I'm twenty-five
I swear to God I ain't rapping I'm in the hood trapping
Trying to knock down bricks like the big bad wolf
Tell my lawyer get me home this jail shit a bad look
Hit her with a couple stacks and next week I had court
Now I'm back and I"m a problem like fuck a mad book
Streets respect it and in the jails I'm well know
Eating the cheche talking to T.I.P on the cellphone
Land up in the bed money and bitches to dwell on
Let's powerhouse man hurry up get the hell home
A mac like Charlie, make noise like a Harley
Ride hard Ferarri, puffing that Bob Marley
Knocking these rappers out the way like sorry
Young nigga but I've been had game like Atari
Killers on the left of me, gonnies to the right of me
Haters even liking me they say I'm too nice to be
Hated on I stayed upon the realest and the trillest
Brick of cocaine will turn your neighborhood to Thriller
I ain't gon' lie dawg I ain't never been a killer
I always had heart that was from the start
Forty on me always kept it on everywhere I walk
So anywhere it went down I was riding Rosa Parks