Tom: D# minor•
Verse 1
Ebm
The number one independent later,
killing them in the game
Independent
You're now tuned in to the number one
Latin rap artist
Abm
in the Chicago Rap Industry
Number one on the billboard
Abm
Number one on the streets
Ebm
And number one with the sales
Haha
Bbm
Who the fuck you think
Who the fuck you think you talking to?
Db
You done fucked up homie,
Ebm
now the talk is through
The streets fuck with real G's,
they don't fuck with you
Db
Any streets, any avenue,
That Mr. Criminal shit,
number one,
they feelin' we trick bossin'
Boost me on some silly shit,
Ebm
that Young Brown and Dangerous album,
homie
This really hits, economy crash,
Bbm
who's still lining up in this recession,
bitch?
thank you for the purchase
Boost me on some bitches,
Db
Ebm
so I can't lay ass on purpose
What happened to the days of real tracks
and real rappers?
Internet came,
Db
Ebm
flooded the game and killed it
All these MySpace rappers
came out overnight
Abm
Beggin' for a deal from the label,
pathetic, right?
motherfuckers get no credit like
Bbm
So they get on Twitter talkin' shit,
jealous every night
Ebm
What kind of sideways bitch
shit is that?
Motherfuckers turnin' fatal,
Db
Ebm
tryna kick up with the cat
But these half -ass bitch,
ruddery rappers get no deffin' now
Db
All of a sudden they bosses come,
Ebm
what kind of shit is that?
Fools couldn't hang with that G shit,
no shows right
Now you see them rockin'
Abm
skinny jeans and mohawk
Ebm
Other fools fell off the gang,
no love lost
Plucked out the gang
no love lost
Ebm
I'm from the home of the gang,
bangin' gunshots
Fools be on some candy shit,
Db
Ebm
like bubblegum drops
Goes water down, they get no love,
not from the ground
They got no fans locally,
Db
Ebm
mines worldwide all around
Over this etho, the flows I spit is lethal
Abm
Fuck a sequel, if you trip,
I'll put you in the ground
Ebm
Beneath you, I'm sick
with it, like explicit
And triple X, rapper,
Ebm
these fools ain't ready for war
So don't even test,
Db
homies from Nevada back my place
Ebm
So come see me, yes,
I'm west side it like Tupac
Db
California love comin' out of the rooftop
Ebm
And I just might be one of the sickest
latins on the microphone
Abm
Fools really need to leave the mic alone
Ebm
My homies tell me, Mr. Criminal,
dawg, you're killin' them hoes
Almost satisfied, but not quite yet
Bbm
Db
There's still a hope that
Fuck it, it's a cheap thrill
To hit the gang every year
Db
Ebm
and give the rest a pre -fill
I gotta tell them the truth,
if not the streets will
Db
I guess that's why the wack -ass shit
Ebm
is livin' weak still
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