Verse 1:
Blade runners play the block like concrete/
Dreaming about a Beamer, with their heaters in arm's reach/
Women in Palm Beach with Miami Heat floor seats, to floss 
like a don, two arms crossed on Wall Street/
But cautiously, they return to the code/
Cold weather when it's 30 below, burners approach/
Never know if it'd be murder she wrote/
You gotta study the text, the context, then refer it to blow/
You know/
Then it's other factors that make you double backwards/
Cops checking your duffel bags with funny badges/
Interrupting the magic, all of a sudden it's tragic/
And you were trying to kick it just like a punt in practice/
Imagine the confusion that starts fusing/
Fueling up in the fire, defiantly start a movement
to crush the competition like prohibition/
Wars of attrition? That'd be your decision/
You know the mission.

Chorus:
When I come down, come down the block/
Eh, you better close up shop/
I don't care if you're ready or not/
Got a team by me that'll run in your spot for me/
When I come down, come down the block/
Eh, you better close up shop/
See them young boys running their mouth/
'Til I have them same boys out running a route for me, eh.

Verse 2:
Tell us to feed the hungry, but homie, we need that money/
How I'm gon' meet these bunnies, with sneakers that's leaning funny?
For real/
If I ain't icing the cake, the pie won't bake, and I don't got time to waste/
Too many nights they deprived me steak/
I wanted rib-eyes/
Grew up in a pig sty with sick ties to semi's/
Where friends die walking to school/
The other side wants static like they bought you some wool/
They pour salt on your wounds/
Pick and choose your direction: you either pack a matic, or you're 
manicly depressive/
Under pressure to leave/
Long sleeves where they cover your heart/
Running a race, no cleats, so you struggle to start/
You stutter; mumble to talk, learn to articulate/
Authenticate your style, embrace where you're taking it now/
I know you're sick of cats shaking you down/
It builds character/
Soon enough you're feeling superior.

Chorus Repeated

Verse 3:
I vomit realness/
Saving up to cop a building, for my familia,
millions'll probably stop the stealing/
Killing is dead, get it?/
Figured the figures, configured to get the bread, living it up
while the feds listen/
Morning, my head risen/
Brushing my teeth, contemplating cooking the beef just for something
to eat/
You're street? Then you relate to that/
Manifestation rap/
The infiltration from the station got us pacing back/
I stay in tact like a poster/
Posted in the crib, hopeful. Watching 50 Cent talk to 
Oprah, to describe the culture/
My homie Sean tatted both his arms/
You'd think he thuggin', but he putting most his dough in bonds/
My local charm did the most for me/
Openly prophetic, told 'em I would do it, though my tone was jokingly/
Move like a tectonic plate, replace coca leaves/
No retreat, rolling deep, different kind of potency.

Chorus Repeated 2x's