Eastside Moonwalker

[Verse 1]

Lifestyles of the insane

Eastside thug nigga, I'm the shit, you a shit stain

I let the boxframe switch lanes

Not a pretty nigga, but I got some game for a bitch brain

And I lay it on so thick

Charge it all to a broad, heard a pimp nigga quote this

And I'm allergic to a broke bitch

I think I need my medicine, I had to po' up 'fore I wrote this

And doing dirty keep a nigga with a deep pocket

Dope fiends and the cluckheads keep shopping

Steady praying that the yayo keep locking

Keep a strap cause the jackboys keep robbing

Got me pulling up slow

Whip another clip and put my pedal to the floor

Slamming Cadillac doors, working wood like a pro

Ass sit on nothing but that leather, whatcha know, how you living, nigga?

Lifestyles of the insane

Roll the kill, pop a pill, crack a seal, I resist pain

Niggas looking for that big stain

Dirt weed, dog food, fye kush, niggas flip 'caine

Think I lost my religion

Stepping on a pack, break 'em off in the kitchen

Chevy topped off with the chrome in the engine

Niggas gotta floss, that's the cost of this pimping, I'ma pull up slow

[Hook]

I'ma pull up slow

Candy paint dripping from my Cadillac door

I'ma pull up slow, I'ma pull up slow

Run up with the mask, put them hoes on the floor

I'ma pull up slow, I'mma pull up slow

Run up with the mask, put them hoes on the floor

I'ma pull up slow, I'ma pull up slow

Candy paint dripping from my Cadillac door

I'ma pull up slow

[Verse 2]

It's the muddy cup moonwalker, nightstalker

Motherfucking white chalker, might've caught ya

In the streets with your pants down

Tell 'em call the paramedics, nigga man down, ease up

If you thugging, get your Gs up

And never fake, never fraud, never fold, never freeze up

A black mask, black tee'd up

The motherfucking dope game feed us, how you living, nigga?

And rest in peace to my motherfucking homeboy

But hold your tears, he ain't die, he just a fuckboy

You might as well be a dead man in my eyes

2-2-3, sucker-free when I ride

Freddie Kane, Freddie Corleone

Selling things to the smokers in the mobile homes

A pack of backwoods, dirty styrofoam, and a pocket full of stones

And my Cadillac Brougham, I'ma pull up slow

[Hook]