Ronnie Drake

So don't call me a nigga, unless you call me "my nigga"

I'm a king, O.E. be slipping, falling from my chalice

Don't mind the bumpers that be missing from my carriage

It's poorly tinted, but my women not embarrassed

I came to bury you average, you feel slighted

It's like she know that I got it, it feel like it

I real life it, I spill vices

You will like it, I promise it's trill vibing, I'm honest

Nigga ain't no getting money on that conscious shit

I'mma just load my gat on some survival shit

And when I hear they got a drought on it

I take a month out of rap and I hustle 'til I'm out of it

I got that coke flow, that heat rock

I got that old school, huddle 'til the beat box

Baby, I'm just digging in your gushy for the sweet spot

I'mma beat that, 'til that mothafuckin' beat drop

I got love for my niggas, my killers

My dealers, my trickers, my bros

I got love for my sisters, my women

My bitches, my strippers, my hoes

Hope they don't kill you cause you black today

They only feel you when you pass away

The eulogy be so moving, we live the scenes of those movies

Conflicts in school or dope moving, it's so youthful

But if you die today, I hope you find some relief

In what a great escape, we still dodging from polices

When we make a plate, they be lying, searching in my bucket

With the straightest face, it could be eighty eight

Sometimes I wonder why we killers, why they killing us

I think we only wear a grill because they grilling us

Or how they feeling us, gotta look real and tough

Gotta keep your hands in the cart, know you stealing stuff

Came a long way from a boat and an auction

Now we got names and a vote, then a coffin

Ain't shit change but the coast we adopted

Little black children you can call me that nigga, nigga