ESPN Lyrics

Walked out the courtroom feeling like OJ

No face no case

Turn you to a cold case

You ain't got no pape

Talking about the old days

I hit the mega millions

Ima make sure my bros straight

Know its bout cake

Every time a nigga phone ring

Sending Jpays to my niggas doing all day

Open shop in ya complex

In the hallway

Knock knock

Who the fuck is that

Check the cameras

Dexter ave nigga calling shots from Calabasas

Wrist look like the chandeliers in my mansion

Up late smoking blunts

Thinking bout expansion

I don't let Nana listen to my music

Can't stand next to me

I'm too exclusive

When it come to that white girl I'm abusive

Beating on these keys like my mothafuckin producer

Take a gram of molly

Drop it on a bitch tongue ring

If I ain't making plays

Know I live in the gun range

Since a lil kid knew I'd be the man one day

Now I'm richer than niggas that was grown when I was a baby

Big E move militant like the Navy

Used to have a hundred allies

Couldn't trace me

Sleep real good knowing niggas still hate me

I live by four words

Fuck you pay me