Pound For Pound (feat. John Gotti, Mozzy, Conway the Machine, Styles P & Benny the Butcher)

"I don't think, pound for pound, yup I don't think there's a more sincere, better guy in this fuckin' world than me Th-the more for everybody You could see-see what I got You could see what I got compared to what other people got And I can't believe what I read and I hear I don't know who this guy is that they're talking about Maybe somebody could introduce me to him someday I don't believe 'em" I told Benny I got plenty Machine, what up? Mozzy, Gangland They treat us like pharaohs, AK with two barrels Used to have a bitch sellin' pussy for mе on O'Farrell In the middle of thе candle, there's a 20-grand stack Heat the glass, pull the wax out, and cut that bitch in half Carbon paper 'round the paper, makin' 50-stack flimsy Feel like a magazine, sendin' cash gets tricky I'm bags, not blicky, no smalls in the back When they froze the bank account, I thought I would fall back I miss Encrochat, used to wipe my phone clean Three times a week, different level to the stream Throw a few Gs on each, I'm somewhere out of reach When the phone loses service, I'll be back in town with heat My old plug out in Maryland, got caught up with some heroin Controlled buy at the four-point Sheridan Fuck a snitch, let 'em die slowly Around here, I'm the big homie, the top male only Yeah, the opposition ain't no competition Loaded chopper in this Honda Civic, I stand on top of business It's sneak dissin' when you not specific The DA gave that boy a deal, he turned it down, he's very optimistic Perpetrator, baby, not the victim We unforgiven when it come to trippin', it spit out double digits You want this Pacquiao? Then come and get it I put them boogers 'round my Granny Goose, referrin' to this flooded image It's hard to leave 'em when you love the trenches Where was the love when I was locked and you ain't come to visit? They cracked the code, went through the phone and ain't find nothin' in it You touch a ticket then you tuck a ticket Tell 'em run the trinket, yeah We money motivated, fuck these bitches We pull up back-to-back-to-back in all these younger Benzes I never ratted, that's a fact, it ain't no smut on niggas Said all this hustlin' got me up on niggas What's up with niggas? Street nigga since a young boy, knee-deep in the game Cookin' up before school, school clothes reekin' of 'caine Always keep it a hunnid, you better keep it the same Niggas'll rest in peace you, just for a small piece of my chain (a little bag) Need to refrain from ever speakin' my name Call my shooter, Method Man, one call, he bringin' the pain Say they just your homeboys while police think you a gang The people can't wait to hit you with RICO, think it's a game And the feds applyin' pressure to the weakest link in your chain Now listen to the weakened chief in a unbelievable strain (talk to 'em) Say they shooters, believe you me, we do the same Scopin' a beam on that mop, I'm just increasin' my aim Yeah, nobody do it how we do it Educated, luxury, coke rap, street music The impossible? You seen Machine do it Made a 50 off a thousand dollar pounds of mid, those the G-Units Tell niggas, "Cut it out," they barely got heart Tell 'em, "Cut it out," hoppin' out the coupe, gun butt 'em out Throw 'em in the passenger, maybe it's the Porsche Or NSX Acura, let me be accurate (errrr) Money in the vacuum, in a house, made to clap at ya Fuck about your shooter Me? I got a homie that'll throw you off the roof Vacay in Aruba, he could dog food, uzi in a Uber I been outside since Dougie Fresh, Slick Rick the Ruler Violate? That's a shot to your medula, point-blank (point-blank) I could run the point, take my points, that's how point rank (that's how I rank) Never mind all this plug lingo, the Ringo (never mind) Hellcat engine, I would have dubbed Nino (I would have dubbed him) If this was New Jack City, I would have shot him in the face Brought the crew back with me (y'know) Yeah, from the first to the 31st We outside doin' dirty work (we outside) If you got it from the mud, you was dirty first (The Butcher comin', nigga) When this rap shit over, I at least need 20 out it, M's (at least) So, I'ma need less friends and more money counters Perfect life for who? That's what y'all think? That's funny, how? 'Cause I'm stressed I guess I just don't deal with no money problems (money ain't a problem) How to make a million dollars? Guess I'm the perfect example of it Well, streets guided me this far, so how can't I love it? (How can't I?) I used to take three hundred grams and cut it (yeah) I trafficked strapped, pistol tucked down my belt line with a handle rubbin' On my white boy shit, at the Mandalay chuggin' beers (yup) Brought a chip to my town like a Tampa Bay Buccaneer (Griselda) Niggas say they 'bout to drop but got nothin' I wanna hear (ha-ha-ha) Your first mistake, prolly was thinkin' I fuckin' care They was out to get the squad but look at us now, it's too late Alphabet garage, C-L-S-R-T-Q-8 "Fuck the streets, you a rapper," that's how my plug used to tell it to me Fell out when I wanted a quarter-brick and he wouldn't sell it to me (sell it to me) Fuck 'em (The Butcher comin', nigga) "Dictated that I take each course I took No, I didn't have multiple choice Blackball here And like, five hundred dollars in this place here Like five dollars worth- My word to you, all the doors were closed, that was the only door open"