The Cake

Cannon out da rental, beam to ya temple

To get the money, the money
The money, the money, the cake

Ova the money, the money
And you mutha fuckas lookin' like steak
Me I'm from the street, where nothin' sweet
Food on the plate for the wolves, follow wolves
Buck got the shotgun, 50 got the mack

I'm da poster child of violence, I'm the boy on the poster
You heard Banks said so I know I got the mack
I need the bread lil' niggas need Christmas
I done been through every hood, dead niggas gone rap
Yeah, listen up clicko, I hustle I get though
I don't give a fuck, it's goin' down like that
You ain't ridin' in dem 6s
Then you headed up state for rollin' 'round wit' a steak
Blood will ooze on ya shoes wait, control ya hate
Don't get moved by the tools
The Unit don't play, we rap but we strapped
I squeeze blow your mental, all ova ya friends
I don't complicate shit, yeah I keep it simple
No mistakes cause the jakes, run the plates
You a bitch ass nigga, the cupcake of the block

Southside trama drama wit' gallamas
You fuckin' wit a sicko, I spazz let a clip go
'Cause Yayo got a temper and he don't know how to act
Politicate wit' lawness, it's usually 'bout white

I conversate wit' killas, it's usually about life
Plottin' to pull me ova, put the cake in my jeep
I need the cake nigga
When the shots start to rang out I'm the boy wit' the toaster
Show me the money, the money
Any nigga disrespect the click gettin' shot
Now I don't hear the sirens but they prolly gonna creep
Niggas slow down, pump ya breaks

So I'll be skippin' cities seven states in aweek

I'm in it for the money, the money

The money, the money, the cake
'Round here niggas get found upside down

The money, the money, the cake

'Cause you spendin' all ya cake on dem bitches
Banks don't rap wit a back pack

My bullet wounds will tell you a story 'bout wut I been through
Can't a mutha fuckin' breathin' tell me I can't eat
Niggas start up the beef and run straight to the cops
I've been gone all winter but now a nigga back
The money, the money, the cake
Cake
The home of the hommies, there's a body every week
Spida got the sweeper and you bound to hear it clap
I pull up, pull out spray hollows at your back
Money, money, money, money
In the heart of a victim murda is monumental
You won't have another birthday cake afta that