Pound For Pound

I don't think, pound for pound
I don't think there's a more sincere
better guy in this fuckin' world than me
That did more for everybody
You could see-see what I got
you could see what I got compared to what other people got
And I can't believe what I read and what I hear
I don't know who this guy is they're talking about
Maybe somebody could introduce me to him someday
I don't believe 'em

I told Benny I got plenty
Machine, what up?
Mozzy, Gangland (I'm comin')

They treat us like pharaohs, AK with two barrels
Used to have a bitch sellin' pussy for me on a fare
In the middle of the candle, there's a twenty grand stack
Heat the glass, pull the wax out, and cut that bitch in half
Carbon paper 'round the paper, makin' fifty stack flimsy
Feelin' like a magazine, sendin' cash gets tricky
I'm bags not blicky, no smalls in the pack
When they froze the bank account, I thought I would fall back
I miss encro-chat, used to wipe my phone clean
Three times a week, different level to the stream
Throw a few Gs on each, I'm somewhere out of reach
When the phone loses service, I'll be back in town with heat
My old plug out in Maryland, got caught up with heroin
control by at the four-point Sheridan
Fuck a snitch, let 'em die slowly
Around here I'm the big homie, the top been lonely

Yeah, the opposition ain't no competition
Loaded chopper in this Honda Civic, I stand on top of business
It's sneak dissin' when you not specific
The DA gave that boy a deal, he turned it down, he's very optimistic
Perpetrator, baby, not the victim
We unforgiven when it come to trippin', it spit out double digits
You want this Pacquiao? Then come and get it
I put them boogers 'round my Granny Goose referrin' to this flooded image
It's hard to leave 'em when you love the trenches
Where was the love when I locked and you ain't come to visit?
They cracked the code, went through the phone and ain't find nothin' in it
You touch a ticket then you tuck a ticket
Tell 'em run the chicken, yeah
We money motivated, fuck these bitches
We pull up at back to back to back in all these younger Benzes
I never ratted, that's a fact, it ain't no smut on niggas
Said all this hustlin' got me up on niggas
What's up with niggas?

Street nigga since a young boy, knee-deep in the game
Cookin' up before school, school clothes reekin' of 'caine (whip)
Always keep it a hunnid, you better keep it the same
Niggas'll rest in peace you just for a small piece of my chain (a lil' bad)
Need to refrain from ever speakin' my name
Call my shooter, Method Man, one call, he bringin' the pain
Say they just your homeboys while police think you a gang
The people can't wait to hit you with RICO, think it's a game
And the feds applyin' pressure to the weakest link in your chain
Now listen to the weakened chief in a unbelievable strain (talk to 'em)
Say they shooters, believe you me, we do the same
Scopin' a beam on that mop, I'm just increasin' my aim, yeah
Nobody do it how we do it (uh-uh)
Educated, luxury, coke rap, street music
The impossible? You seen Machine do it
Made fifty off a thousand dollar pounds of mid, those the G-Units

Tell niggas, "Cut it out," they barely got heart (cut it out)
Tell 'em, "Cut it out," hoppin' out the coupe, gun butt 'em out
Throw 'em in the passenger, maybe it's the Porsche
Or the NSS Acura, let me be accurate
Money in the vacuum in a house made to clap at ya
Fuck about your shooter (what the fuck?)
Me? I got a homie that'll throw you off the roof
Vaycay in Aruba (that's fact), he could dog food uzi in a Uber
I been outside since Doug E. Fresh, Slick Rick the Ruler (all facts)
Violate? That's a shot to your medula, point-blank
I could run the point
Take my points, that's how point rank (that's how I rank)
Nevermind all this plug lingo (nevermind)
The Ringo, hellcat engine, I would have dubbed Nino
(I would have dubbed him)
If this was New Jack City
I would have shot him in the face
brought the crew back with me, yeah (you know)
From the first to the thirty-first
we outside doin' dirty work (we outside)
If you got it from the mud, you was dirty first

(The Butcher comin', nigga)
When this rap shit over, I at least need twenty out it, M's (atleast)
So I'ma need less friends and more money counters
Perfect life for who? That's what y'all think? (who?)
That's funny, how? 'Cause I'm stressed
I guess I just don't deal with no money problems (money ain't a problem)
How to make a million dollars? Guess I'm the perfect example of it
Well, streets guided this far, so how can't I love it? (How can't I?)
I used to take three hundred grams and cut it (yeah)
I trafficked strapped, pistol tucked down my belt line with a handle rubbin'
On my white boy shit at the Mandalay chuggin' beers (yup)
Brought a chip to my town like a Tampa Bay Buccaneer (Griselda)
Niggas say they 'bout to drop but got nothin' I wanna hear
Your first mistake was probably thinkin' I fuckin' care
They was out to get the squad but look at us now, it's too late
Alphabet garage, C-L-S, R-T, Q-8
"Fuck the streets, you a rapper," That's how my plug used to tell it to me
Fell out when I wanted a quarter-brick and he wouldn't sell it to me (sell it to me)
Fuck 'em (The Butcher comin', nigga)