They say the game has the belly of a beast
Blunts for fingers and hollow tips for teeth
Wire taps for ears, Nike Airs for feet
Blasphemy for prayers, a system for a heart
Rap music for beats, heroin for a son and its married to the streets
Crack pipes for lungs, and he never sleeps
Just spies, wit dice in his eyes
Loves life cuz he likes when it dies
Wit a baking soda soul, he cough up pleasure
Clothes made out of dollar bills that he sewed together
He knows, he's clever, jealous his house
All the liquor that's poured out, goes right in his mouth
Rides around on a stray bullet;
Wit prostitutes, pimps, dope dealers and killers tied to it to pull it
A TV in his head, stripper slides down his legs
And he's known to ride around wit feds, and he's OUT THERE