Kredity
PERFORMING ARTISTS
DJ Drama
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Clifford Harris
Songwriter
Damon Blackman
Songwriter
Jay Jenkins
Songwriter
Willie B. Jackson
Songwriter
David Darnell Brown
Songwriter
Joseph Guillermo Jones II
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
John Frye
Mixing Engineer
Dame Grease for Vacant Lot
Producer
Texty
[Verse 1]
The feds takin' pictures of me
****'s still snitchin' on me
900 for the zip
What you think I'm smoking, homie?
Oh, what you think I'm joking, homie?
Blue rims, yeah, the coupes crip walk
Certified plastic, think I'd rather make hits?
Between me and you, yeah, I'd rather flip bricks
So, tell me what's wrong with glass pots and a scale
Pose for them bitches like the double XL
[Verse 2]
Homie, we ball till we fall, Magic City to the mall
Tryin' to stay out of reach of the long arm of the law
I'm calm like snowfall through preliminary hearings
They indicting **** for bootlegging and racketeering
Prolly got me on the camera while I'm coppin' out the car lot
I'm coming out the banks, big cred' with the Karl box
It's Willie
My future bright like a highlighter
They taking pictures 'cause I'm fly like a skydiver
[Verse 3]
Jones, step on
You ain't seen money
Until you seen me
220 for the Bentley GT, see
And the money ain't a thing like J. Dupri
When you ballin' 'round the country like the major league
So peace up, A town down
Tear your streets up with them AK rounds
Now, what you know about that?
I know all about that
Three birds, three nights can make a hundred thousands stacks
That weight, ****
And, man, they got it on camera
The feds been watchin' since ya' boy touched Atlanta
[Verse 4]
I'm the biggest mobster to ever hit the pop charts
I'm a easy target, they know a **** rock hard
Get a clean check cut, slip it in my account
Right amount of China white, a lil cut'll wipe 'em out
I ain't with the rappin', boy, I'm puttin' in the work
In these **** with the rapid, lay his ass in the church
Get some information for you informants, I got the yay
And I'm sellin' it cheaper than yesterday, so what ya say?
[Verse 5]
They snappin' while we trappin'
Tryin' to find out what happened
They wanna lock me up before my album go platinum
I took my cellphone and through it
My bank account, I blew it
I got to cut my conversations, I don't want to do it, but
Who's that peeping in my window?
It ain't no love, they tired of telling on the kinfolk
So if you've ever been broke and turn a penny to a twenty
Then let me hear you holla, if you want me, come get me
[Verse 6]
Whether you know me as T.I., or you call me T.I.P.
Know the APD and the FBI, they talk about the G, I be
I'm sure they know when I be high, when I'm in the VIP
I'm sure they see me as I fly through the city and that brand new VIB
Young, rich, and famous with a pistol, you can call me Chi Ali
But I'm the greatest in Atlanta, they be callin' me Ali
Written by: Clifford Harris, Damon Blackman, David Brown, Jay Jenkins, Joseph Jones, Willie B. Jackson
