| [Hook - Ty Dolla $ign:] | |
| 100 miles and runnin' | |
| Always into something | |
| Yelling fuck the police | |
| Like I’m straight up out of Compton | |
| Real niggas don’t die | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| Just a nigga with an attitude | |
| Always into something | |
| [Verse 1 - Stalley:] | |
| Impala on eights, dope boys on crates | |
| Swiss movement on watch, 45 on the waist | |
| Got a million dollar hustle, a rich nigga face | |
| White cocaine, rack it up on the plate | |
| Alpina Beamer with the cavalier plates | |
| My niggas dribble down in VA on the run from the DEA | |
| That’s when niggas wore button ups and white ups like | |
| H O V A, and everybody had Ye before 808s & Heartbreak | |
| The streets was a shark tank, put money in the gold link | |
| And loyalty was everything | |
| Your lady held you down, with or without a wedding ring | |
| Selling dope wasn’t settling | |
| If you could smoke it they was selling it | |
| Hard grind peddling | |
| A street nigga pedigree, tryna leave a kingpin legacy | |
| Pockets fat like Ledisi, thank you to the heavenly | |
| Father for them dollars, I got it straighter than the letter T | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 2 - Stalley:] | |
| Dope man, dope man, that’s what they yelling | |
| Pockets full of stones and an automatic weapon | |
| Teenage outlaws, rebels without cause | |
| Lost in this jungle where everybody is flawed | |
| Middle finger to the law, best friends lay in morgues | |
| And they wonder why our attitude’s raw | |
| A real nigga never take a fall, that’s on god | |
| Or never take on the false façade | |
| Before that happens niggas blocks getting taked off | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| That’s how we all function, and we get it how we live | |
| Even if it’s gun busting | |
| Number crunching with 8 balls for fiends luncheon | |
| Anything to keep from ribs touching | |
| Rims bumping, I blame it on Cube | |
| He says it gets funky, a subject and a predicate | |
| F the police, that’s a gangster nigga’s etiquette | |
| And this nine filled with cop killers that’s sitting on my hip | |
| [Hook] |
| Hook Ty Dolla ign: | |
| 100 miles and runnin' | |
| Always into something | |
| Yelling fuck the police | |
| Like I' m straight up out of Compton | |
| Real niggas don' t die | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| Just a nigga with an attitude | |
| Always into something | |
| Verse 1 Stalley: | |
| Impala on eights, dope boys on crates | |
| Swiss movement on watch, 45 on the waist | |
| Got a million dollar hustle, a rich nigga face | |
| White cocaine, rack it up on the plate | |
| Alpina Beamer with the cavalier plates | |
| My niggas dribble down in VA on the run from the DEA | |
| That' s when niggas wore button ups and white ups like | |
| H O V A, and everybody had Ye before 808s Heartbreak | |
| The streets was a shark tank, put money in the gold link | |
| And loyalty was everything | |
| Your lady held you down, with or without a wedding ring | |
| Selling dope wasn' t settling | |
| If you could smoke it they was selling it | |
| Hard grind peddling | |
| A street nigga pedigree, tryna leave a kingpin legacy | |
| Pockets fat like Ledisi, thank you to the heavenly | |
| Father for them dollars, I got it straighter than the letter T | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 2 Stalley: | |
| Dope man, dope man, that' s what they yelling | |
| Pockets full of stones and an automatic weapon | |
| Teenage outlaws, rebels without cause | |
| Lost in this jungle where everybody is flawed | |
| Middle finger to the law, best friends lay in morgues | |
| And they wonder why our attitude' s raw | |
| A real nigga never take a fall, that' s on god | |
| Or never take on the false fa ade | |
| Before that happens niggas blocks getting taked off | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| That' s how we all function, and we get it how we live | |
| Even if it' s gun busting | |
| Number crunching with 8 balls for fiends luncheon | |
| Anything to keep from ribs touching | |
| Rims bumping, I blame it on Cube | |
| He says it gets funky, a subject and a predicate | |
| F the police, that' s a gangster nigga' s etiquette | |
| And this nine filled with cop killers that' s sitting on my hip | |
| Hook |
| Hook Ty Dolla ign: | |
| 100 miles and runnin' | |
| Always into something | |
| Yelling fuck the police | |
| Like I' m straight up out of Compton | |
| Real niggas don' t die | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| Just a nigga with an attitude | |
| Always into something | |
| Verse 1 Stalley: | |
| Impala on eights, dope boys on crates | |
| Swiss movement on watch, 45 on the waist | |
| Got a million dollar hustle, a rich nigga face | |
| White cocaine, rack it up on the plate | |
| Alpina Beamer with the cavalier plates | |
| My niggas dribble down in VA on the run from the DEA | |
| That' s when niggas wore button ups and white ups like | |
| H O V A, and everybody had Ye before 808s Heartbreak | |
| The streets was a shark tank, put money in the gold link | |
| And loyalty was everything | |
| Your lady held you down, with or without a wedding ring | |
| Selling dope wasn' t settling | |
| If you could smoke it they was selling it | |
| Hard grind peddling | |
| A street nigga pedigree, tryna leave a kingpin legacy | |
| Pockets fat like Ledisi, thank you to the heavenly | |
| Father for them dollars, I got it straighter than the letter T | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 2 Stalley: | |
| Dope man, dope man, that' s what they yelling | |
| Pockets full of stones and an automatic weapon | |
| Teenage outlaws, rebels without cause | |
| Lost in this jungle where everybody is flawed | |
| Middle finger to the law, best friends lay in morgues | |
| And they wonder why our attitude' s raw | |
| A real nigga never take a fall, that' s on god | |
| Or never take on the false fa ade | |
| Before that happens niggas blocks getting taked off | |
| Appetite for destruction | |
| That' s how we all function, and we get it how we live | |
| Even if it' s gun busting | |
| Number crunching with 8 balls for fiends luncheon | |
| Anything to keep from ribs touching | |
| Rims bumping, I blame it on Cube | |
| He says it gets funky, a subject and a predicate | |
| F the police, that' s a gangster nigga' s etiquette | |
| And this nine filled with cop killers that' s sitting on my hip | |
| Hook |
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