| (Z-Ro) | |
| Let my coedine settle, and have a toast one time | |
| Multiplications on my digits, come up over some time | |
| 3-57 in my spine, they can't hold me like Kobe Bryant | |
| Powered up, popping tulips and clovers and stop signs | |
| Taylor made, Gucci looking like a million bucks | |
| Neck full of gold baggets, and trillion cuts | |
| I reside on cuts, cause having money is a must | |
| Give me the issue or get touched, the scuffling up | |
| Fuck with the raw like a cut, cause I hit too hard | |
| Radio stations don't play, cause I spit too hard | |
| I know they hate me everyday, and I ain't quit so far | |
| But if you cross the line, AK is gone hit your car | |
| (Hook) | |
| Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the throwdest of them all | |
| Cause you know my name, it's Z-Ro the Crooked | |
| Z-Ro the Mo City Don, it ain't over it just begun | |
| Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the throwdest of them all | |
| Cause you know my name, it's Z-Ro represent the third coast | |
| Let my codeine settle, and have a toast | |
| (Z-Ro) | |
| I'm a guerilla that's after the scrilla, I cock glocks | |
| I'm the top knotch, body armored like Shaq done blocked shots | |
| Dropping cops cause they crooked, I'm the law now | |
| Posted on the corner, selling raw now | |
| Looking for them people, keep an open eye | |
| And if I see the jackers, never hesitate I gotta open fire | |
| Active like a live wire, retalliation is a must | |
| Rock and buy these bezzels, and then I bust | |
| Geniva watch, telling me it's time to ball | |
| Get in the line till I make it to the front, and then it's time to fall | |
| But if I ever fall off, just fall back behind the scene | |
| Take seven, catch me up in sitcoms and big screens | |
| (Hook) | |
| (Z-Ro) | |
| When I roll, I roll one deep | |
| I never stop wrecking, these H-Town streets | |
| And ain't nobody holding me down I'm a roll, I'm rolling | |
| If you didn't know Southside still holding, folding | |
| Big lemon faces, got real money cause I catch cases | |
| Sipping on skeet tastes, and I'ma lean in private or public places | |
| Milicated refreshness, keep my mind at ease | |
| Trying to reach another level, keep me climbing trees | |
| Coming smoke out my nose, bald faded minus before | |
| Keep it gangsta, got groupie hoes striking a pose | |
| But see they ain't getting chose, or catch me tipping my dob | |
| I need a independent thug chick, launder money and drug shit | |
| I'm the boss hog, ain't nobody hogging me over harder | |
| Soft then I'm off, in the funk in my roller | |
| (Hook - 2x) |
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