Tekster: Ghetto Mafia. Straight From the Dec. Fool I Got You.

[chorus x2]

Fool I got yay
Straight from the dec on a grindin' day
Late night I hit the hemp fold of greens
Right back to the trap serving fiends

[verse 1: Wicked]

Check the eyes of a ragin' savage
Fuck my bitch
Fuck Oprah
Fuck marriage
Get it in gold
Don't ask Wicked for shit
I'm over charging these niggas for this blowned up shit
Those punk-ass niggas in the hood want his cash back
(Man y'all know you overcharged for dat count of wax(?))
I can't tell Nino
They've added 'em up like burnouts
(Just some punk-ass niggas who put the word out)
I'm the judge I've got a grudge
I'm holdin' court
Gonna finish you nigga
Gonna raid your fort
Evidently y'all don't know I'm irregular
Not your average dope dealer, burgular
See I got yay so I'm in it for a minute
Damn Columbians look to fuck they own business
I send a shoutout to my niggas in the cells
Fallen Gs, broke niggas, and head swellers
See y'all are bitches and the jury can came with ease(?)
All the cars in cribs can't fade my cheese
Last night I had a talk with the devil
He said, "Wicked(!) take this game to another level"
In my mind ain't no peace but the 9
That's why I stay ever on the grind
Grind in Decatum every day
Fool I got yay

[verse 2: Wicked]

Fool I'm climbin'
Straight grindin
(Gangsta!)
Still risin'
I got my first 20 Gs at seventeen
And fuck a Benz I had a Chevy and Maclean's(?)
All them years in the hood I turned them Gs
Sucked the life from the hood like some fleas
Shit was cool 'till we blew up
Yeah, and now them faces are curious where we grew up
Went from Jag to Jetta, Jetta to hooptie
So them punk-ass cops wouldn't detect me
I flipped an H(?) so I could fold and give double-ups
My hip is blown(?)
I can't sleep uncovered up
I had to jump out the hood for several reasons
Bitches were snitchin'
Niggas were schemin'
And Ghetto Mafia was under inditement
One from the fed
One from the president

[chorus]

[outro]