I used to move brown rectangles
Roll you a blunt, then smoke you with death's angel
Chrome trey pound is making your neck dangle
Blue trey eight is leaving your chest mangled
It's math but the gun could kill you at all angles
Leave the toast home, I'm leaving you all strangled
Louis loafers on the Jaguar, gas peddles
You got the cops with you, you ain't even half ghetto
(Not even half) We neither here nor there
But if, you was over here, you would of been got aired
(Been got aired) Like a pair of white Nike's on a summer day
Pointing the gun away, I could kill you niggas a hundred ways
Mine's in a place that yours ain't, so I'm wearing war paint
For the day that I see the Lord saint
Blowing the purple haze, playing The Purple Tape
Fuck with Chef or the Ghost, get left with a purple face
Styles P