Whoeva think Curt soft...sniffing that dust...
I made weight from pitching rocks -big as my nuts...
yall lame and fake niggas...I'm major weight business...
state to state flipping...more powder than baked chicken...
I remember in my prime on the streets...
they called me Eric Neis the way I'd grind on the beat...
had a line for the feinds and a line for the feinds...
so long...last week -it finally ceased...
was never impressed with a diamond a peice...
but you'd catch me on the block with a dime and a peice...
or a dime and her freaks...ready to run trains...
pulling up in a truck range...the color of blood stains...
big whips kitted up...big flips with a buck...
you could call me celebate -the way I wouldn't give a fuck...
you could call me...sell a bit...medecine...excederine...
just sell a brick...prick...or give it up...
