on June 17, 2014
I’m gonna take a stab at the lyrics. Any corrections or filling in the blanks will be most welcome (blanks are implied by the vauge guesses in square brackets):
Fat Trel — 0-100
I heard some niggers in my city talk crazy.
But is they really in my city, nigger — maybe?
Aint say they name, we don’t make the same wage,
even if it’s world-style, we aint on the same page.
Shaking my fucking hand, I’m shooting the same [case].
Croxz, give me a grade, lock me up in the cage.
Still rocking lemonade, my vicious criminal ways.
Hot molly [I chew, and ice marks] wish you were haze.
Sitting’ sideways — you niggers is gay.
This industry’s just a game, I don’t think I wanna play.
I know this bitch in love, I don’t think she wanna say.
She says she wants some dick, I don’t think she wanna pay.
Then I fly to LA,
baby, on the way, and I’m ‘a love ’em every day
— no matter what [his mother] say.
Get your shit together, what my older brother say.
And I’m dicking bitches, on jets — they think it’s snakes on a plane.
Some shit’ll never change, stone-cold game,
Police is taking pictures and they know my [old name].
27 on the chain, make that murder; gang,
Since I proved my old advance, I ‘aint been the same.
Swerve in my lane, all-black Range.
You pussy niggers faker than them all-black chains.
Bright pinky-ring, Roley on my wrist;
cock-blocking like a goalie ‘cos he know she on my dick.
Black [tail wrists] on my homeys, on the list — can’t forget.
My bitches only know me for good dick.
Say my brother name and I pull up on your strip.
No fight with the fists, bullets swinging from the hip.
Too legit to quit, too much money on my [mint].
In my city, we’ll put them bodies in them [wrenches].
And then we burn [ev-r-nu] up.
And take a shot, and smoke a blunt. Now what the fuck is really up
And we don’t give a mother-fuck about them other niggers,
And when you fucking with — who fucking with — them other niggers,
In duffle bags, and all the pussy is coming with us,
At 30 popping a hundred shots, in the [drama] with us.
Now come and get us boy, you probably see your momma with us.
With all the drinking and smoking, you know the drama with us.
I put the ice on her pussy, I tell it “cool down.”
That was Miami, though, she cooling with a dude now.
I’m back in Cali, in the Valley, I’m a fool now,
They hear my Crip, short-stop, bring ’em tools down,
[I’m in the East, J Pink’s bright two freaks]
Threw heaters in the back, black two-seater.
I like to let my tats show, black wife beaters.
I like to keep a lot of thot, black pipe eaters.
Night creeping, never was the type to like divas.
I see a hundred dollar bottle, with my [tool in it],
I got rich and I didn’t get it from school either.
I didn’t get it from the court, I got it from the bleach.
I got it from the bleach.
Still middle finger, fuck the teacher.
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