Like This (West Coast Remix)

[Verse 1: Boaz] I used to dream of that V dozen six double zero The quickest recipe to get it was to cut a kilo Young boss nigga, respecting my OG though Buying lotto tickets and chips at the casino That’s what we call finessing, salad with the dressing Hard headed, bout that cheddar nigga, I ain’t learned my lesson Blaze tire, burn fire, while I fire off the Wesson Burn fire, stay higher nigga, I ain’t ever stressing Counting every blessing, counting every second What’s on my mind is money, it’s time to cash the check in One zero zero comma one zero zero comma Keep on running up the numbers Fuck these haters and they mamas These lil niggas still wearing their pajamas With the feet in em, ain’t no street in em I already kill em with the blow, time to kill em with the flow Illmind let the beat hit em [Hook: Boaz] We rocking on the mic like this Like this the place that I belong Everytime I rock a mic like this I rock it all night long Yo, don't I been whipping in the Benz like this Like it's the whip that I belong Everytime I drive a whip like this I take a bad bitch home [Verse 2: Crooked I] Shady 2.0, we them monsters I'm either with the slaughters or walking with ten copsters When I'm in Detroit, that shit is kinda ironic I'm eating Alfredo with Marshall discussing imposters You niggas counterfeit twenties, live your life like a dyke Cause when it come to beef, nah, you ain’t down to get busy I let off a chopper round, spin your block around Your whole town’ll get dizzy huh? Like a merry go round, if we ain’t rocking turn your stereo down I still grind on my rap shit, the gun is still mine when the strap kick It sound like an Illmind black kick, clap shit Like, it’s Crooked I Same west coaster, who got ya? BM in my DM, meeting at 9 PM She gonna be on her knees son, like Liam [Hook] [Verse 3: Murs] I'm the shadow that overshadows the darkness Light nights in my adam's apple to spark this Mass murder with words, what do they call this? The way I carve my name in your carcass call me an artist Traded in the Benz for a Prius Body white as coke, tires blacker than Jesus Sleeping with the same chick for five years I chase dreams not pussy like my peers That's that for better or worse shit Niggas die talking that "better than Murs" shit They need to quit submit or get they arm broke Bicep under the neck, I seen them all choke Bear your blood on the web, got a little buzz Flashing heat, but the streets never heard of cuz You buying views, I'm buying rooms with a view And a first class cabin overlooking the blue [Hook] [Verse 4: Fashawn] Now my bars is felt, cards get dealt I let off until that cartridge melt, Fashawn Pipe giver, wife digger, Kershaw, white pigeon Type killer, MJ mixed with Iron Mike's temper Mic ripper, apparatus unknown Paragraphs out the pad I compose, nigga I'm bad to the bone gristle Sending rappers to the 'spital When I hear an instrumental I'm very detrimental Serve niggas, late night just like Kimmel Black guns, black suits, white limo Four bitches hanging out the left and right window While I sit and pour champagne, light indo Luck, jewelry, us, looking like I stuck a jeweler up Told [?] keep the ruler tucked I ripped the crowd, left a cloud on the stage And twenty some thousand astounded, amazed [Hook]