Camillia’s

[Intro] Yeah, yeah The Butcher comin', nigga Griselda We the realest niggas y'all seen in a long time (Griselda...) [Verse] Ever since Griselda, these niggas been as dead as Elvis Fuck the world, I'm selfish Just thoughts that I came from jail with The pot was warm, the kitchen was dirty, the jar was Hellmann's It's karma, walk my plug for the work that I caught a cell with (damn) When I'm back home, I'm fuckin' with killers Fluffin' up chickens I pull up to them niggas with them stuffed in a Fender On the West coast, I'm one of the littest Outside of Roscoe's smokin' dope by the Fronto with a couple of bitches That trap talk not enough to convince us Your prices way off, them numbers you mentioned got you under suspicion Them poker odds gon' keep me in Vegas We be with gangstas rockin' different Just Dons like I keep gettin' traded Shout out the plug 'cause he sent me a package Long as I pay him, he gon' throw 'em just like Peyton in Indianapolis These pussy niggas know Benny is savage Sneakin' the ratchet in my G-star denims, nigga, Fendi the jacket Happened for a reason, nothin' ain't accidental My dog took a risk, lost a package from Sacramento Ratchets in back of rentals, caskets, candles, vigils, we catch you When you think you too lavish to pack a pistol It give hope to the hood to see a hustler make it (Facts!) 3 felonies and all of 'em drug related My shit one of one, they custom made it 24 hour trap, fuck the neighbors, get a block and suffocate it A year ago, I was broke to keep it real Got a few bad batches of dope I couldn't sell Caught a brick that nobody wanted, I took a L (damn) Then I wrote My First Brick, it's a classic, so I excelled (yep!) Turn somethin' tragic right into magic, so I prevailed My kids happy, and your bitch happy, and I'm not in jail When you look at it from that perspective, guess I did well We street niggas, so my integrity, not for sale (nah) When the pies land, everybody buyin' slices Niggas havin' seeds and buy V's, instead of buyin' diapers MAC-11 sprayin' like a fire hydrant Bullets got your name on 'em like a driver's license I went down for conspiracy as a teen Niggas lyin' 'bout their past but apparently that's a thing This Glock probably melt from me airin' it at your team And my bitch arm tired from carryin' that Céline The Butcher, on Steroids, nigga