Texty:
Figure Four Carried Away

Some odd days I get carried away and I'm dreaming. I don't know what to think. What can I say? I think it's everything just building up. Up to the point

they forgot to account what I did with the raw Pick a time, let's pick apart some stores Pick a weekend for freakin' for figure fours I figure frauds

ain't around, probably out committin' felonies My favorite rapper used to sing, "Check, check out 'My Melody'" I wanna live good, so shit I sell dope For a four

that born to die I took the bullets outta 50 and put 'em in my four five And I ain't even got my feet wet yet A seven figure nigga who ain't seen a royalty

the wood, word from the front never came By evening the sound of the gunfire was miles away Ah, softly we move through the shadows, slip away Through

the boom box as my sound knock from blocks As I chill and bust grills you take snapshots Of the maniac dressed in black carry round a strap Kid you play

that I'm comin' servin' you Snug brim get flashin' innocent til I'm provin' guilty Snug brim get to blast in And fuck the homicide charge I got expazito A mob figure

and those who listen to it don't owe me nothin' I don't want nothin' from you, not even your judgement I ride on a flatbed chariot, four Ostriches carry

black peane disappear like Houdini. God of the univers I control your soul, shaking niggaz up from the bottom of the north pole. In my double S four fifty four