Intro

Niggas told me that you can’t go to war until you get your money right nigga
Well I done got with the money team
Trick Daddy told me I can talk my shit
Touche told me I can talk my mother fucking shit nigga
Slip-N-Slide records we the mother fucking mob nigga
Mike Smiff, Mr. Florida, Mr. Down South Dade County Turnpike South Exit 6 bitch
M.I.A.M.I we got the mother fucking streets now nigga yessir
Touche, Trick yall put yall feet up, I got this shit
Right hand on a stack of bibles, I will slap the shit out of one these bitch
ass niggas
Dade county, we back yessir
Reporting live from the dope whole
Nigga M.I.A. we got the streets in a choke whole
Fuck nigga where that money at
Look me in my eyes, welcome to the mind of a maniac
Man, I just don’t give a fuck
Take me to any hood, drop me off, I’m gone run it up
I’m a fucking rider
A hustler, go getta, survivor
I understand ain’t nobody finna give me shut
Dropped out of high school and went to drilling shit
Young niggas slanging hammers like I’m building shit
Murder 1 ain’t nothing, I’ll kill a bitch
Went to jail, told the judge I was innocent
Kept my mouth closed nigga, I was militant
My whole team got federal indictments
Bitch you couldn’t walk a mile in these Nikes
Still in the streets, still got that fie stuff down in my briefs
Still with the smoke, my niggas still in the hood still selling dope
We ain’t going back broke
Nigga how would you react with your back to the ropes
Niggas already know, I done been in that pressure and ain’t never fold
Slip-N-Slide over anything
We don’t rock tight shirts and we don’t rock skinny jeans
We still let our pants sag
Pocket full of racks, nigga we don’t rock man bags
I’m finna take it back to the streets
I might rock dickies all week
I might go and buy a Benz
I might mask up and break Buddy Roe out the pen
This that Miami knight shit
That convertible Bert Rick Brownlee and Ike shit
Bo Diddly, Bunky Brown, and Pop Young, Ump Jr Walker, and Sunny Bun
Uncle Al would be proud of me
In a chevy with a 3.5 on that loud on me
Riding round with my music booted up
A nigga run up on me I’m gone shoot em up
Real niggas in the building, nigga what it do
Bitch I’m Mike Smiff, who the fuck is you?
If yeen talking about money, it don’t matter
Young niggas in the field like a cattle
Nigga we not scared of nothing but a gavel
A nigga still will never snitch, never tattle
Always got fire like a candle
Always got a bag like Santa
Big guns, quarter keys, and lawyer fees
Alcoholics, dead bodies, and narcotics
Nigga, I done seen it all
I done seen it all
I just want to ball, I just want to ball
Run it up, run it up, run it up
A quarter million dollars ain’t enough nigga
We need M’s on M’s on M’s
I’m trying to pull up in the foreign with the rims
R.I.P. Rey Day got damn
He was there when I was shooting in the gym
I done lost a whole lot, my balls my word and this Glock is all I got
I can’t stop until I make it to the top
I can’t stop until my pockets full of knots
Redrum got sticks for the opps
I’m riding around with them brooms and them mops
I do it for the gangstas and the thugs
I do it for the niggas in the pen
Slip-N-Slide Records we gone get it in
I ain’t got a job but I’m finna go to work
A nigga intervene, we gone put him in a hearse
We finna lock this rap shit down
Came for the check, we ain’t come to play round
We got the heat, we got the streets
If you don’t fuck with us nigga you ain’t finna eat
Pussy ass nigga you ain’t finna eat
Pussy ass nigga, get down or lay down
Y’all niggas name don’t hold weight now
Hate it or love it, the underdogs on top
We the big, black, rock wilders on the block
Eyes low looking like I just woke up
Team full of hittas, who the fuck want what
Big bucks, big cars, big trucks
96 Tupac hit 'em up
Mike Smiff putting it all on the line
And Slip-N-Slide finna shine like it’s 99 lil bitch