(feat. Trife Da God, Wigs)
Yo, my plate never pork, I sink deep into minds where you can't talk
Cough it up, bitch, I shine like Chinaware
Shine like the box in the live ball player amped
Fuck Mike Jordan, it's P-Tone in the air
Pullin' over NARCs with mad coke stashed in the spare
Guns and all that, the NARCs said, why you dipped in all black
Said, I'm comin' from a funeral, y'all boys can fall back
[Wigs:]
It's Wiganomics, I drop like a brick in the third
And y'all fruit cake niggaz think my style's absurd
Only the birds I blow back, Staten Island super gat
Talk is pork, I get that money then stupid stack
Theodore, we state of the art, you wanna keep that
Chain around your neck, you better play your part
Cuz ain't a damn thing sweet, like the Wonka Factory
This the Enterprise/Theodore shit, you no match for me
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