Track 4:
Murda, Planes, Rides to New Port
This is a lyrical bloodshed/so take heed/off with your head/if you nod/with speed/dread/it’s considerate/how the king’s spread/is a feast to tread/touching sky lines with beats instead/but look at the Murda/it’s streets are red/built off the assumption of doubters/it might take wonders to reach credit limit/max out/there goes pimper’s paradise/with her legs spread/take from the least violent/get branded/it’s sweet street cred/flip out/the King is working for a penny/because excess is stupid/but he eats well/sees what he wants and he treats his freaks well/is that not the way of the patriarch of grammar/who knows/she’s in love with the camera/always treat the next lady like the other lady/but there I go there jester has got to see if the drink is well/poison is at Chevron addicted to the sweet smell/91 freeway to LAX/got to take out the fleet/and tell/I heard it through the grapevine/so the least I do is dwell/got in a cab/Newark airport/my heartbeat quells/the day I got crowned/I found Dumpling/with his streets well/his pockets fat/sitting down/Madison Square Garden/turn around like Trae Young/I moved really sleek yeah/we plot on strip clubs in the west/until the bay swells/walk up to limo/ready to take the seats back/Tupac will not die in vain/so I clutched my teeth/grit my teeth/diplomat reach/got it/reached back driver/slides up to limo/they never seen this kid with the valley heat well/lyrical assassination/I see the treat well/it’s my boy from the murda/body guard/neat as hell/he holds him down/I get up close and spit/don’t ever diss killer Cali/Tupac my patron saint well/I didn’t miss/man down/Funk Master Flex is now dead/is the thoughts of a maniac dumb dumb/with no business sense/but sweet red rum/nice is the word play but then again/it’s all in the voice for a gang star
