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Hit-Boy
Where would I go?
You know real (Where would I go?)
Real big boss sh*t (Where would I go?)
Distinguished gentleman sh*t
Real street n***a sh*t, yo

Jumped in the game feet first and I paid for my actions
Hospital stays, laid up, related to asthma
And all I knew was chase paper in a dangerous fashion
Them boxes came to my crib with my name on a package
Mama, I made it, rose petals and gold Chevelles
Ask the team, we all cop gold bezels at those levels
It's on my wrist and as well as my hip, it's cold metal
This kinda game only run through your veins and your bone marrow
It cost me, they tell me, "Be humble", they think I'm flossin'
sh*t, I probably am, I got this out the concrete
I stood in front of buildings, sold dope brown as coffee
Wearin' Barkleys, I just parked the 740 by a palm tree (That's real sh*t)
Stuck to the plan from out the sand, get rich and share it
When you a dope boy, this the life that your b*t*h inherit
She wanna f**k me on a yacht and take a trip to Paris
I buy her expensive sh*t and she forget to wear it
Big dough when you thought of my block
I bought a brand new pistol when I thought of the opps
I had the money on the roll 'fore the water got hot
And I still remember who owe 'case y'all thought I forgot
The Butcher comin', n***a

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