[verse 1:]    I got this coffee pot of white soap  stuck my hanger down the center   when I entered I spent it cause it was like dope  But on the real-a he was jackin' me for scratch   cause out of 36 ounces this motherfucker brought me 20 back  I'm slanging 20 sacs cause I done lost 16   and these goddamn streets aint going to bring me back  Now could it be the southside big baller  Bolo rock slanger stones done got slaughtered-damn   I'm going up on my whole thangs  And stepped on don't go runnin my clique cause it's a old game  And all I ever wanted was some hundred stacks  I went from slangin' o-z's to movin' hundred sacks  Gotta make my money back  Cause I done came too far up in these goddamn streets  to get my money snatched  I'm so for real about this motherfuckin skrill   that any obstacle obscuring my paper is gettin' killed  For real    [chorus: ]  (scratching and mixing)  All I have is this small skrilla    [verse 2:]    I know this nigga run this game of life   So motherfuckin sheist that at night he got to sleep with lights  Cause he done come across with shit so shade  that mutha fuckers comin with clips to locate him  Aint no waitin and once they spot him they gon' sure face him  and once the got him they gon' sure waste him  This aint no mutha fuckin joke nigga it aint worth it  and even if your mother gets in it you cant surface  It was all purpose   just like that bullshit you was serving it was all purpose  We all chipped in nigga and we all hurting  I gots to grind just like in eighty-nine  when a niggas 25 cent pieces look just like baby dimes  I'm on the corner selling whole eights  I don't remember being this fuckin paranoid since I sold weight  I went from 50 sacs to 50 packs  And all because this motherfucker got jipped he wants to jip me back  But when I find him I'm gon finalize him  Just to let a nigga know I'm for real and down to die for mine  And I'm for real about this mutha fuckin skrill  that any obstacle obscuring my paper is gettin killed   For real    [chorus]    [verse 3:]    Game made to be swift since eighty-six when I started  Seems like niggas with hustle got outsmarted  Cause now they wanna analyze they homies for scratch   Catch them when they sleeping come down and up scrap  And even though I plotted hittin' niggas for ends  I never took out straps and shot gats at friends  It was all about being for real where I was from   Where very few niggas came real but I was one  I dedicate this to my homies stuck in battle  Living life being caught up in this mutha fuckin' gamble  The game made to be changed but the niggas still started  Cocaine seems to be blamed for the niggas gettin slaughtered  How many times you had your homie shot   By the same mutha fucker whose game came from your homies block  Niggas get caught up in the paper chase   and lose respect for the game   that was honored before the cake was made     [chorus]