Living with the heat, I'll never face defeat, dawg see me in the street//
Moms says Imma 'son of a gun' cuz I'm protected by the 'heat'//
Shoot out the security alarm, break through the front door of ya home//
Holdin the black chrome, pop ya square in the doom like Sylvester Stallone//
V.I.G, the man with the grams, flipping wit my fams//
'Ki' after 'Ki' as if we were frequent customers of a blacksmith//
Closed casket after closed casket, hey they asked for it//
And we run crazy wit the 'pounds' like we just jacked a 'fat' dude//
Nice & smooth we operating like K.Y lube//
The club scene is the bub scene, countin stacks of mean green//
Pissy drunk & burning Ls like gasoline//
Security rushes us, we give em something to remember//
My squad is like a basketball team, my 'Forwards' 'Shooting Guards' 'Point' & 'Center//
Hammers are going bannanas cuz we clean up better then janitors//
It's V.I.G, look-look, he knows ya shook-shook, everyone knows ya aint a crook-crook//
Got that crack ready, I'm the cook-cook//
