Why Try

You know, yeah SAS, Streets All Salute
J.R. Writer Dutchbeatz yeah we the BG’s
I been patient fam' stuck in this crazy land
Where men will lick your head off your shoulders so they can make a grand
No snitchin, naw I’m bout to take a stand
My trumpet get the spittin you thinkin it’s finna make the band
No safety, blow like it’s A. C
Call me bird’s eye you heard why I make P’s
I’m about my wealth
So I need a range rover that named after a book that’s about myself
And it’s over dosha, when I flip and put the razors to your face
I ain’t talkin bout a Motorola
Big claims know you won’t clap back at us
I have your whole strip runnin like they tryin to catch a bus
Oh you sellin drugs you can get your melon slugged
Then get swept off of your feet like you fell in love
I can fight but the guns preferred
We them Dipset thunder birds now watch we rain on them
Why try, you’re gon' die I
Pull up in a drop with the pistol cocked
When I pop I’m waving bye-bye
You don’t drive by, all you is drive by
They call Byrd Gang you heard fam'
We fly high
Okay, Writer
My my I’m sky high the fly guy
Pull up to your bitch escape with a whip from space I’m talking sci-fi
Why try to out do me I doubt truly
Cause J’s an ape so stay in your place I ain’t never been a slouch Scooby
Listen you not as sharp I’m getting the gwope to start
You ain’t seen bigger m’s since the McDonalds arc
These gangstas Pac at heart in front of your bitch
To turn and look like what who you comin with miss
You my son get the drift
So right now I be dissin myself, if I called you a son of a bitch
Give it up for the dips, cause it seem so simple
Yet I’m «So Sick» like a Ne-yo single
I will blast them, leave them I a casket box
Sleepin with the saddest 'ock for leapin like an astronaut
I keep the tech sucka
So I don’t care if your pops marry my mother
How dare you step brother