[Yes, yes, yes, you know the West Coast is back, kid. The girl is looking at me in surprise, but you know, but you know, I don't care who thinks I'm weak. ▷ We're not playing around, we'll set it on fire until the wheels fall off. ♪Now you know I'm not into that truck nonsense when I'm in the neighborhood.♪0:51 The ladies are praising him, but the haters say he's declined. How so? Weak, pathetic, money-making machine for serving criminals. Ever since I set foot in this place, I've heard the screams of whores. I'm giving you until you count to three to present your argument or accept the situation. I'm telling you to watch what you say. I know your game and what you're doing. You just see me as bad. Your words are cheap. You're not a man, that's why I slept with you, you fat bastard. I don't know why I'm performing this song. You smoke hashish, of course. You've learned how to get high. He thinks he's the leader of the nation, a black man acting all high and mighty. And his belly's sticking out, saying, "I'm a boxer, I don't play around." But the first punch knocks him off. He takes a million pictures of his muscles, and his prestige is filtered and photographed. He walks around puffing out his chest, like he's the last Tyson. My friend, tone down the act. The neighborhood knows the character. He laughs at people without limits, and the chair is his only source of energy. He walks around with a big belly and thinks he's dangerous. If he runs for two minutes, he'll call for an ambulance and a cup of coffee. He walks around with people who are "turning around." "Wrap it up."
No rules, no order.
Every day a new face.
And every promise she makes is broken.
