[Intro]
It's like the pain I own

[Verse 1]
He's addicted to the fame and it's a damn shame
I wanna be with some lies and he sounds lame
Tales of money and stardom that nobody believes
Can't collaborate your story little n***a please
This other sucka talking 'bout the [?] relevance
Zero commissaries stop insulting my intelligence
Put himself in [?] said he needed to die
Swallow bleach so he wouldn't go to general pop
Frontin to us like he did it just to get a cell phone
He was really terrified and tried to get the hell home
Picking fights with the crippled then the old, the weak
Trying to gain a finesse every time that we speak
All the female COs is with it is what he claims
I ask him what they with he replies everything
Faking ain't gon' get you on a track and no wealth
If people with it think you got it they won't offer no help
700 dollar belt, 7 dollars in your pocket
Taking pictures, flashing other people's money
You should stop and mend this topic fit to any situation
His bozo ass frontin' motherfuckers all across the nation

[Chorus]
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Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
[Verse 2]
More tears through fears
More [?] appears
Gotta keep pushing, time to switch the gears
Get away from bullshit I ain't tryna hear
Haters in the crowd when there's too much cheers
Rooting for the real
Blinding people polluting how you feel
I don't believe in it
If my fingers can't feel that's why I touch so many
My influence bigger than sales and I touch every penny of mines
Nobody in my pockets equals bigger profits
We are not equal, I am big homie in the big drop with
Roulette table, 20 thousand was the roll
Hit that red light, God bless Banga and his soul
We wasn't out in Reno, it was sugar house casino
Down in Philadelphia, just dropped my Bambino
Little Roro, daddy's home sorry I took so long
These crackers ain't like the way that I put on
Marble floors, marble walls in a marble basement
Different living from my, prior incarceration
Thinking damn this shit is wack, a n***a had no real choice but
To adapt, playing dominoes
Not plenty designer clothes
Jordan flip-flops those was my zapatos good grip
Never slip, never trip
Versaci head to toe in his booth making a hit
Had to go through some shit to get to some shit bigger
Standing at the man in the mirror
Like you that n***a
Haters can't get rid of
Ya boy, Church, who God blessed
No man can curse
Troy Ave
[Chorus]
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Oh, oh