They say the game has the belly of a beast 
Blunts for fingers and hollow tips for teeth 
Wire taps for ears, Nike Airs for feet 
Blasphemy for prayers, a system for a heart 
Rap music for beats, heroin for a son and its married to the streets 
Crack pipes for lungs, and he never sleeps 
Just spies, wit dice in his eyes 
Loves life cuz he likes when it dies 
Wit a baking soda soul, he cough up pleasure 
Clothes made out of dollar bills that he sewed together 
He knows, he's clever, jealous his house 
All the liquor that's poured out, goes right in his mouth 
Rides around on a stray bullet; 
Wit prostitutes, pimps, dope dealers and killers tied to it to pull it 
A TV in his head, stripper slides down his legs 
And he's known to ride around wit feds, and he's OUT THERE