I be, working at kikis, making tzaziki
Talking bout hip hop and the finest sticky icky
Marijuana conversations and endless food preparation
Once were done with these cucumbers have a little celebration
Got tomatoes by the cases, choppin onions by the sack
Working crazy Fucking hours just to watch that money stack
Bring it back, for the token black, cookin like it’s crack
Sippin yak, while I kill the track, bomb it like Iraq
Whippin sauce, like my nigga ross, should call me the bawse
Chillin cause, all I do is win, never took a loss
Strain that juice, up in syracuse, out here getting loose
Mr t, bring back the mohawk, then I pity foos
Here I go, on my henny flow, got that henny though
Gettin low, with my morning bros, making all that dough
Going strong, every line I spit, every song a hit
When I’m done, pullin off these gloves, cause they never fit
I ain’t  done, got my second shift, selling hats and shirts
I can’t stop, not a little bit, that cash I gotta git
At sundown, pour another round, step up to the mound
Midnight comes and I’m still around, my second wind I found
Not OG, that would be bobby, but I take it further
More OJ, every track I’m on, get away with murder