(I heard Sam was going solo) God damn, you didn·t know so,


well I can blast fast so freak an ill type of slow flow.


I·m hitting harder than Berry Boss so check the golden child,


throwing it to your ear-hole, got you going buck wild.


But truck-tracks, rhymes all day, breaking off niggaz proper,


did dirt, did West cause I clown coppers (yeah).


Do hip-hop, rap, compose ·em most, I couldn·t see me,


mad advanced and my skills are all about the dollar bills.


From Pittsburgh to Cali dropping bombs like that,


was on the D.L. with the squad so I couldn·t hold it back.


Black, I regulate I buzz a big gate figure,


mobbing with the ill nigga, with his finger on a bigger trigger.


Serving all (saps), hitting sevens on the (simps),


making do·, eating shrimps, locing with some real pimps (yeah).


So peep game, best believe I love my peeps


that·s why I make the type of music you can pump in your jeeps


(that·s right).


So buck my sound, I put it down for the underground,


I got the women cause I·m slamming, jamming.


Got it going on this time for this new producer to rise,


so open your eyes, I think you better recognïze.