Somebody's pulling me close to the ground. I ain't panicked. I've been here before. Seems like only yesterday when I got up on that stage, in front of that crowd, and showed them who was who and what was what. Man, look at these suckers. I ain't no rapper. I'm a hustler. Just so happens I know how to rap. Okay! I'm reloaded! Uh-huh. I did it again, nigga. * up, right? I know. I know what y'all niggas are asking yourself. Is it gonna ever fall off? No. A lot of speculation on the monies I've made. Hunnies I've slayed. How is E for real? Is that nigga really paid? Hustlers I've met or dealt with direct. Is it true he stayed in beef and slept with a tent? What's the position you hold? Can you really match a triple platinum artist? * my butt, but only a single going gold. Rockefeller * fold, and you're left out in the cold. Is it back to charging motherfuckers 11 for a O? For the millionth time, asking me questions like Wendy Williams harassing me. They get upset when I catch feelings. Can I get a minute to breathe? And in that minute you leave, while I'm looking at my roll. Ice spinning on my sleeve. Ugh, nice watch. Do you really have a spot? Like you said, in front of foe, and if so, what block? What you doing in L.A. with Filipinos and essays? Latinos and chaves down by Pico with Federico. I answer all y'all questions, but then y'all got to go. Now the question I ask you is how bad you want to know? Do you? Do you? Do you? Rockefeller, yo. Uh. Know my style. Motherfuckers can't rhyme no more. About crime no more. To I'm no more. Cause I'm so raw. My flow expose holes that they find in yours. Wasn't for me. Niggas still be dying for whores. But I hate when the niggas sit back. I'm ironing yours. Young blood, you better get that. We frying for cause. Niggas don't want to be confined to riding the iron horse. And don't listen to the rappers, yo. They dying to floss. I used to be O.T. Applying the force. Shoot up the whole block, then the iron I toss. Come back with the click playing Diana Ross. I'm the boss. And this is how it's going to be. Burnt the turnpike. Wild mouths on the beat. I got mouths to feed. Till they put flowers on me. And kiss my cold cheek. Chicks crying like I was cold cheeks. Tombstone, we was holding. No leaks. Started from the crack game. And then so sweet. Freaked it to the rap game. Jig of the O.G. On MTV. Telling them how I sold D. And used to bag work up out of apartment 4B. Me and my homie. Started out coldies. Picked the mailbox lock. Cause I ain't have no key. Had the cable with the anchor. When jazz made so beat. Then I went low key. But now I'm back. It's on. Motherfuckers. Jigga. Uh-huh. Yeah. Rockefeller, yo. Uh. Phyllis. Phyllis.