Released: January 1, 2008

Featuring: Mack Mustard French Montana

Songwriter: Mack Mustard French Montana Max B

Producer: Max B

[Hook : Max B]
I said we do what we do
What we want, we want
Want, we want
Want, we want
I said we move what we move
When we want, we want
Want, we want
Want, we want
P.O. roll me blunts, me blunts
Blunts, me blunts
Blunts, me blunts
Waiting for the day they'll free Al Peezly


[Verse 1: Max B]
The Trey pound let off like
Thunder you never heard of
Know I had to slap a little Mustard on the burger
Murder
Bullets turn your insides to Gerber
Furthermore
Promise to never love a whore
I was little big like Napoleon
Heard you did a little freestyle for Nickelodeon
No jail ain't goin' hold me in
I was shipped out
10 times shackled to the limbs
I managed to keep a pair of Timbs
Head cooked
Fuck with fed, grand get your head took
Simple and plain
They said I'll never rap again
Pack the mac again
Cause there's beef with these bitch niggas from BK
Wavy is a cliche
He say, she say
Fuck all the small talk
He spray, we spray
I'm about to hit Boardwalk, Park Place
Got it all already just a couple more rolls of defeat
Biggaveli, you too street
Two seats left in the back of the Sedandy
The trucks is colory
Drops like candy, handy
Whores wanna soothe and spoil me
Made frosty, the cock is cholesterol-free
Lil ma, come and get a lick
You can have some
I ain't like that
I'm going but I'll be right back
Light that sour
Put it in the air
Fuck is you niggas talkin', it's Gain Greene, yeah (oww)


[Hook]


[Verse 2: French Montana]
Lungs full of sour
Cup full of liquor
The hood got love for a nigga
Coke Wave
Macaroni with da Cheese
Fly by, new ride, that's a 100 G's
Bitch please
My style awkward, Southpaw
Still make it rain nigga, indoor, outdoor
South Shore, beach house
Max bring the freaks out
French Montana sell the seats out
You can't blackball me
Weak nigga
My money long
You'll be counting it for weeks nigga
You see them undercovers watchin' us wired
You was home under covers, watching The Wire
Messiah, CT, ridin' a Z3
Blurrin' niggas, my shit 3-D
I'm a beast in the streets where I lay my head
For 5 G's, them YG'z, plate ya head


[Hook]


[Verse 3: Mak Mustard]
Cock it, blast a 9 mill
Until I get this cash, I will not chill
Cops is on my ass, I will not appeal
Everyday is independence day
Trust me I'm not Will
I get more then jiggy with it
Rugged and gritty with it
Better stay low when you get it
Cause most these niggas is bitches
Get cut short like midgets
But listen, cause the minute you're indecisive
You're lifeless
We got the will to be last clique standin', that's priceless
Heart colder than Isis
Got the hood locked, with no badges and nightsticks
Automatics and ice picks
From the morning to night shift
Heavy for this fetty
If it ain't fifths and dezys
My niggas tossin' machetes, we ready
It's Gain Greene, my niggas get it in
Hell, he was [?]
Look how we fittin' in
When he talk to the beat
He can't walk through the streets
Make niggas look at the floor
When they talkin' to me (Gain Greene)


[Hook]

Max B

Wavy!

In the words of Roc

As far as his melodies… they were second to none as far as I was concerned. In my opinion, he was the street version of what Drake is—the fans can have Drake, but the streets have Max.