Yeah, ayy
My money long like digits on calculators
Balling like the Raiders, a hundred thousand in Vegas on a single hand
Come on, my man, I'm going ham, I'm
Grilling these rappers like I'm MC Shan
And I'm chilling at the crib sipping scotch watching Shinchan
Whip pan, now I'm in Tokyo at the Ritz and
Me and my homies got concierge at they wits end
Headlinin' in London, can't get in with no wristband
Groupie bitches want the D like they play for the Pistons
Fuck all the bullshit, we bringing it back to that meticulous lyrically sick with this, fucking ridiculous
Hey, my kicks knocking like perish
Hip-hop I cherish, had late nights in Paris
I'm running the city like I'm fucking the heirеss
I'm nothing without rap like if the Revеnant was bear-less
These other rappers careless
I gotta stop the verse, my lungs airless
What's the deal now?
You know we keep it real now
Strapped to the T, I will grab the steel now
What's the deal now?
You know we keep it real now
Gotta get this money someway, somehow
What's the deal now?
You know we keep it real now
Strapped to the T, I will grab the steel now
What's the deal now?
You know we keep it real now
Gotta get this money someway, somehow
Our story continues just moments after our hero, Rooster Jenkins, jumps from a speeding train landing in the town of Paradise, Georgia. One hundred and seventy-nine miles from the coast of Savannah. A thirsty Rooster walks through the doors of the saloon and brothel