[Verse 1: Rokamouth]
Yo the first born son was a burnt lit star
Certain sounds could just touch my heart
Working hard, and my team still starve
Outchea, for us they pulling new cars on these old rap farts]
Top the fools, i'm off these charts
I said, 'Switching pronto, no need to front ho
They looking at him like that's my uncle'
Now it's a shame that I got to hunt you
Banging on my homie, you won't need Russell
Young nigga, Running up, snatch and hustle
It's a BK [?], bouta strap the muscle
If your raps are wack and you lack the bundle
Cause I do it all, young enough to live and see old kings fall
Old enough to keep my force still strong
Throwing the track like a cannon ball
Through your walls, you're gonna hear my call
Certified til I die I'm Raw
If I hit the stu, and come back with mo'
I put it in the stores', Platinum fo' sho'
Won't spend it all on dough like I've done before
If a trap star could, let a trap star grow
I'll flip my dough because that's all I know
24/7 and never ends all ho
.44 let my lungs feel smoke
And I've kept it trill cause that's all we know
That's 47 [?], made that track with smoke
[?] on my throats, Shooting shows on tours
Leave it to my pros and my young bro Joe
Cause it's not his fault, they putting styles on halt
And my other side glides each line I float
See my mind in my rhymes on boss
Rap rebels of a walking line
They marching even on the front line
When the time comes
Roka keep it loaded if know you better wanna run
[?] Hanging off the tongue, stay spitting hot bullets
Now my whole verse done
Come, Come
[Hook: Dirty Sanchez]
Come, Come Now
Who's number one now?
Thought it was a joke
'Til the numbers starting showing up [4x]
[Verse 2: Dirty Sanchez]
Dirty want his money right now
And his credit
I deserve my respect for this shit that I imbedded
I am better than them niggas who pretended that they them niggas
Who be lying to them niggas who be buying they shit so
Fuck the government word to my brother man
From the 5th Flo'
Won't get fed if your mouth is closed
That's something he told me
The 47 Og's running it low key
I'm still Dirty and I'm still 7:30
My vision is still blurry so picture perfect ain't really certain
Blind bitch baby, does the cover match them curtains?
Still couldn't block my shine
Chakras divrine like 33rd degree
Fresh 47 embroidery
Pro Era property, no loitering
Can't say my whole team eating yet
But I'm cooking up a mess
Where syringes were pressed: dirty kitchen
I 'm spillin' all my kids on her dress, Started living what I'm thinking
Decider, we next stop
Stop and then frisk
Slaughtering pigs anybody can get it
Shooting stars, now make a wish
Rocking skins like the skins we rocking
Powerpuff smoking on that blossom
We're running the game and this shit is exhausting
But I don't give a fuck cause this shit is awesome
4-7
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Jakk The Rhymer]
I'm from the Era, where we never show weak niggas love
They phonies, me and the homies holding it up
My only place first shorty never lost
Off the bus in New York, trying to record
Man, you're favorite rapper down the side
Recognize, they don't play with eyes
They an optical allusion like Optimus Prime
Break a rhyme down in the summertime
If I don't separate you and me
I'm acknowledging your truancy
Move like rocket ships, who are we?
Move and sing, Word to my higher Buddha
Seeing through the eyes of Judah
I annihilate a loser
The crown jeweler, Boundary of a Goddess
Not a façade, the Brooklyn niggas is on
Demanding in large, we the men in charge
No progress, it's the Progress
Start spreading love, Gospel
Demanding in large, we the men in charge
No progress, it's the Progress
Start spreading love
Come Come