Trap

This beaner been spitting since like ninety eight my year

Trynna do it big like the Mexican Mafia

Broke as my circle Flow like brass knuckles

Cold ass motherfucker spitting that fire

Reaching out for your conscience wondering if I'm conscious

I be up on them clouds but i'm never blazing the ganga

talking to up to my dawgs just like my name was saint francis

I've been getting real loud but this shit ain't even the primetime

And this boy over boiled I'm like the oil on pollo

Homie this the destroyer you better cover with foil

you better come up with me or you will get left in the soil

so when I'm making and it big don't you go and try to recoil

And I might need lawyer cause my rhymes be so gritty

I'm on my grind and I don't plan to quit till I'm rich I'm winning

Homie's they bounce like coils soon as they see that I'm spitting

Who said a Mex from the west could not afford to get witted G