I’m out in babylon bustin my gun, blastin yo ghetto wit my fake sound, fuckin for fun, killin children on my way down, weighin a ton. On these streets I’m so heavy that I can’t stand up. Feels like my neck is in a yoke tied to coke, cold flowin for the cash crop. Business as per usual. This shit ain’t go’n ever stop. Bakin soda’s open some niggas’ll have to die. You fuckin wit my money your mother might have to cry. Black tears. My will shakes spears and spear chuckers gonna kick the bucket if they think of fuckin wit my duckets. Life is worth a diamond or maybe a private island. Whatever to keep me smilin and my woman lookin fly. Get you high and be your downfall, be your last call in the middle of the night for a pound of that white. I’ll bring you that big fish. Close your eyes and make a wish and taste the killer’s kiss, sweet bavarian barium. Carry them to the other side as the crow flies. The temple virgin cries as I baptize her holy thighs. Water in your eyes, your nose is the desert floor, the oil slick snakes in my belly cry baby give me more. My yellow cake bake your city to a flake of snow & ash. I’m the lawnmower, nigga, you the grass. Come and get a taste of this terrifying, death-spewing, money-flavored, dust-covered angel from the underworld. Twirl a girl down by the river, make her shiver with coal hollow eyes. Watch the water rise. The streets are Himalayan, more snow than the highest peaks, more rocky than Balboa, more gritty than dirty beats. I’m Primo the way I cut it, I’m comin in under budget. I triple back my stack. You come close, but couldn’t touch it. Fuck it. I’m done talkin, you done heard enough. Stack your ones, put your guns up and call my bluff.