The Get Back

Ayy, Rob, I think the feds listenin'

Huh, loyalty, I can't see myself gettin' my boots smoked
Friendless, I'm scared I might get smoked by my own folks
Met somebody close, so I gotta keep 'em close
But the other side long gone
Man, they outta there
Man, we came chopsticks, we turned Detroit to Hong Kong
Bro fuck around and put that powder everywhere
But fuck it, we gettin' our Johnson Johnson on

Cold-blooded, Rick James ain't got shit on the Band-gurb
I just made some chicken wings out a half bird
The ones we so-called beefin' with, they was fans first
We set they roof on fire, let it burn
That mean his top missin'
I'm in that thing with the top missin', in that Continental
Bitch, that nigga ain't no killer, he did it on accidental
I got a V12 engine, but made more in the rental

Lost my closest friends in one year, fuckin' up my mental
They like, "Lonnie went brazy, fuck wrong with him?"
Don't say nothin' crazy to him, you know he keep that pole with him
Huh, and he might have your ho with him
I ain't been home in a month, tell my bitch I'm cheatin'
What's a side bitch? All these bitches equal
Come here, lil' bitch, my name Lonnie, nice to meet you
I'm evil, and I sell that shit that go in needles

They like, "What's the price on that?" It's a feature
I ain't no ape or no snake, I'm a creature
I realized they get dishonor when they don't need you
It make it easier to knock your ass off if I need to
They want that old Bandman
Before unemployment, we got rich off scams
Hey, they want that old scam man
They don't know they call me Mr. Thousand-Eight Grams

I make 'em bag it up with no top
I think the feds watching, had to close shop
This saran wrap music the new hip-hop
Honestly, I made less of music than that Chris Rock
E'rybody hate Chris, but love that cocaine
E'rybody with the shits until that smoke flame
And me and the gang never split, we split whole thangs
With my new friends, we the Shred Gang

Hold on, hold on, pause it, I can -
(Ayy, Rob, I think the feds listenin')

Huh, I think the car bugged, phone tapped
Huh, huh, but fuck that
They ain't stoppin' shit, they call me Bandman comeback
Knock the air out his chest, he wanna run flat
Poke his ass, poke his ass, call that boy a thumbtack
I call lil' bro garbageman, he ask who to dump at
I think swipin' dead, please tell me where the dumps at
They like, "What the fuck is that?" Your credit card, front and back
I used to be a scammer's dog, sellin' all kind of cat
Until I heard my daughter talk, then I'm like, "I gotta rap"

My baby grabbed my pink diamonds, she a flawless brat
They asked me where I get them diamonds at, where them Africans at
They want that old Bandman
Before unemployment, we got rich off scams
Hey, they want that old scam man
They don't know they call me Mr. Thousand-Eight Grams, hold on