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This is for my n***as, my hustles, and criminals
Snort it thru yo' nose or you'll pop a pill down ya' throat
Runnin' thru they pockets, carjackers and kick doors
Runnin' up on n***as wit' pistols after the show
What about my n***as mackin' and pimpin', they seein' trims?
They done f**ked up a fiend hustle, they took our white food stamps
Oh sh*t, here come them boys, they got straps!
You could tell by they Nike gloves, heathers and beanie caps
You could tell by they whistlin' pipes and Rally stripes
Garglin' up the block like them Harley bikes
Take your shoes off in this b*t*h, 'terior saucy
Gucci (Uh-uh), Fendi (Uh-uh), Louis Vuitton upholstery (Yеah)
First things first; gotta stash the Prada (Stash the Prada)
Block-wrapped Ziplock bags and marijuana
Sеcond things THIS; support my high
Bust-a-Head.com, burners when I ride

Sav out! Straight meanies get hyphy! (Get hyphy!)
Act a ass! Go bad with your homies! (With your homies!)
We mooove the block! (We sav out! - We sav out!)
We mooove the block! (We sav out! - We sav out!)
Sav out! Straight meanies get hyphy! (Get hyphy! - Uh-huh)
Act a ass! Go bad on the police! (On the police!)
We mooove the block! (We sav out! - We sav out!)
We mooove the block! (We sav out! - We sav out!)

Ay
Pop guns, D.T.P. like Luda' and them
And you'll lose all ya' thoughts if I shoot at your brim
I'd be damned if your boy be a one-hit wonder
'Cause everytime I touch the lab, I spit thunder (Yeah)
I'm a savage, n***a, it's my duty
You mad 'cause your pockets flat like white booty
"Yo' boy a cutie", that's what the hoes say
I listen to my Pops, so I f**k girls the old way
You n***as lyin', y'all ain't really hoe-gazed
My team is hittas, yo' squad is homemade
And half these n***as hit the block in sole 'caine
Got cottons, started singin' like the whole J's
And sorry girls, I'm back to my old ways
You mess with me, you gettin' tossed four ways
Tape over yo' style, quit rockin' that old fade
We sav out, Chevatti missin' for four days

I got it!
We still seein' n***as sav out (Out), feel mo' ragged out
Throwback 'bout thirty years, past tense (Yeah)
Y'all hatin' don't mean jack sh*t wit' my shaft stiff
Your girl treat the tip like chapstick
You could tell by how the hat fit
Bailey is a dog that can get Halle Berry off that cat sh*t (Woo!)
Stop the games, you b*st*rds
Constellation-bracket factors got it all backwards (Yaay)
Now these hoes scared to deal with the rookie
I'm a Frisco n***a, I take yo' goodies! (Ho!)
Either hoodies or B-Ups wit' Pac on 'em
Or jeans by Armin wit' semis and Glocks on 'em
For game-goofy gals, I oughta get pops on 'em
But I rather hop on 'em and send 'em wit' rocks on 'em
Stop wishin' me hell, 'cause I got it mapped out, sav out

sh*t feel good when you on the dancefloor
And you do that Sav Out (Sav out!)
Do that Sav Out (Sav out, uh!)
Bob your head a little to the instrumental
While you do that Sav Out (Sav out!)
While you do that Sav Out (Sav out!)
Get crunk, mean mug when you in the club
Do that Sav Out (Sav out!)
Wanna see you sav out (Sav out, uh!)
All the women with work, they wanna twerk
Lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Lemme watch you sav out (Sav out!)
Westside, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Eastside, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Northside, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Southside, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Uh, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)
Uh, lemme see you sav out (Sav out!)

Sav out!
b*t*h!
Uh! Uh!

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