Lyrics:

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 1: Ramirez]
Pull up to your mammy house
I put yo family straight to sleep
Riding with the duster by my side
I'm about to sweep the streets
Tell them hoes I stole this murder when I hit they fuckin' town
Tato tip all on that bitch so they don't make no sound
It's the Grey *59, step inside the Columbine
Where you witness your demise
And this throne will still be mine
Grey Gorilla Mac 9, make your heart flat line
Speaking bout my fucking clique
Buckle up and throw down

[Chorus: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 2: Fat Nick]
Oh shit, here we go
These percs and xans, I'm feelin' low
We skrrt the Porsche, the engine blow
I been too rich, now watch me glow
Draco twitch now, watch me empty out a clip
Shoot, shoot, shoot, bet your luck I'll hit yo shit
VVS my neck, jeweled out too, my wrist
Where the hunnid, hunnid, hunnid
Smoke is in a brick
I got too much on me, that's why your bitch, she want me
Iced out, all gold, hear the boy froze

[Chorus: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 3: Ramirez]
Watchin' for the police cause they always tryna catch me mane
A 2-11 in progress, I'm bout to rob this sucka out his shit
Tie him up and tape his mouth, tell this bitch don't make no sound
Throw that busta in the trunk, bout to take him Hellbound
Out the grave, you can't kill what's dead
I like my rum bloody red
My souvenir, this sucka head
And in the water is where he dread
Tearin' up the hot lead
I like the shotty cus its' spread
Fuckin' with the killa, promise by the end
You'll be dead

[Chorus: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips