S.T.R.

[Verse 1] Young ignant, airplane as fuck My story nonfiction I ain't making this up They say hate is a reflection of your success Well in that case I don't think niggas hating enough Yeah I heard your shit Ever consider hanging it up In the Hall of Fame I pitch it up We hanging it up Cash rules everything around me If I answer and it ain't about bread I'm hanging it up I'm so in love with this live Lately it's been a rush On my grown man shit I look wavy up in a tux Its your opinion dog You couldn't pay me to give a fuck Don't figure the Z you ain't me nigga the jig is up The money and the fam like a weigh in Just me and my fucking brothers like the Wayans Opportunity the clique full circle tightening And the bitches with it so You know they're looking for a way in to my city I'm heavy weight, you gon need a weigh in Labels like this is heavyweight we gon need to pay him I mean I ain't think so anything under 6 figures nigga I didn't know Kings amongst kings that how my clique rolls These other cliques are too tired that's a bicycle Grinding but I'm on some fly shit though In my king size bed is where them dime chicks go I only mess with fine thick hoes Bitches I be playing mind tricks on Show them the life and let their mind get blown Get their few seconds of fame like a vine clip show Two different color Benz's feeling like a Chauffeur I got dumb bitches in back Reezy in this cranberry joint I'm on my slave master shit Cause the one I'm whipping is black