Text:
Buck O Nine My Town

with nothing to do that's all i seem to think about or do my soul is sound when i'm in my hometown no place i'd rather be my town, my street gives me

an AK-47, shootin' trey-O times You didn't think I'm willing to find a way to say, oh, my But check it out, though I done made enough money to buy my

' ho. I got your bitch on my dick Because I'm here for my cap down When steppin' through C-Town You better be strapped down The bigger my trigger The

-Tical Biggie, Biggie Uhh uhh uhh Yo c'mon Big Uhh Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches The prestigious cats that speak this, Willie shit Flooded pieces, my

't a problem, see my dough is like, whoa Pulled out my bankroll on y'all niggaz like, whoa Floss the blue shrimp from two tenth like, whoa Faggot wanna peep my

sandwiches, broke, living bad I'm a do it for my homies that's there to lock down Ride with my beats slamming top down Drop the top Just drop the top I got my

I heard them ridin' around smokin' crack in the back of my homies Lex It be them broke ass, no cash Bustaz tryin' to quote that's why the town got rid 'o

in my clothes chain on my neck, rocks up on my wrist dirt up in my piss, gotta partna named Chris movin keys, lemme chop em down in my safe I gotta key

'll be Sheek Luchion the mayor Fatigued out in my house or office Blunt spots and crooked cops can't grow shit so the town supports this (Uh-hun) My staff