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[Intro]

He was the druglord of East Oakland who made twenty to thirty thousands dollars a day selling narcotics in a slum. "He cool, he real cool. I like the way he died you know, he died in style."

[Verse 1: Young Dolph]

When you from where I'm from you look up to Craig Petties

Trappin' out a four door, Bordervilles and Box Chevies

I might score a hundred just to turn into a Bentley

If that traphouse boomin' you can probably catch me in it, ayy

You ain't got the money and you wanna get fronted

Okay leave your mama address and her phone number

Shut the spot down, switch it up, we been doin' numbers

Cussed my bitch out then lost fifty pounds, that's bad karma

Smoked a blunt off lemon tree and ate some fish and grits

Gave her a quarter mil and she jumped on the plane at six

Everything went smooth, I treat myself and up my wrist

All I think is hustling even when I take a piss

Couple hundred thousand in a shoebox

And I got a couple choppers in my toolbox

Dope boy, all white, party on the yacht (it's Dolph)

Man this shit too good to be true, I need to stop, ayy

[Chorus: Project Pat]