Concentrated style, forty-seven out of ten I feel sorry for the fat state of the desert on the rocks Where Memphis, Tennessee, weak spirits are waiting for agraffi and wreaths But where we came back from is only the rustling sands Outface for the kill, two-headed dogs We share the cash while the marauders are robbing the supermarket Hey, the girl is in the ATM, I put a twenty in her I hear a child's cry, I run away from there without a curse SLS Luxe, XXXL, Puff Puff You didn't notice how fate killed you In a deep pit, morons are relaxing And on the coffee, while I'm cleaning the skull Desert Eagle series, I'm a regular shot in the forehead I'll send the devil a fake bullet in the forehead I won't fuck with this shit I share the paper only with my bro I have a home, and if you're nobody Airports, white BMW kilos We roll with smoke from our mouths, our plans are a massacre In the area where I grew up, the name Jay is in demand I pour on the grave bitches that fucked up the brain Hello, Hello Hill, we spoil the judge, we save the world Hello Hill, you didn't notice how fate killed you Hello Hill, we nail the nails in the coffin SLS Luxe, XXXL, Puff Puff