Interlude

Yeah, look
 Straight out the holy land to holding grams
 Tra-tra-trappin' out stolen vans with goals and plans
 Lonely man, remember being my only fan
 I'm down and up, the Midas touch, the golden hand
 Blood in the soil is over oil
 Cold-hearted, my blood boils
 The spoils of war are used to take the drugs out the foil
 Man these arms can't reach you, AR's won't recoil
 Goddamn, I might marry a heiress and move to Paris
 Fuck the carriage baby, let's go disappear and just perish
 Thirty karats in the gold
 I wear it to cherish the kings from which we inherit
 My chariot is McLaren
 It's all numeric
 Talking numbers, you incoherent
 Don't be embarrassed, I blame your parents for even caring
 Or not aborting, ah fuck it, it's not important
 My vital organs can't even tell if it's night or morning
 Final warning, final warning, final warning
 Every morning you'll awake and await mourning
 We earn it then we burn it to ash
 I call it urn money
 My dog called 40 before he turned 20
 Money is earned, the rest is inherited
 Hashish come from Marrakech, all my kush is American
 Man I feel like a therapist, pistol on me like Maravich
 I careless, I'm so perilous with all of this arrogance, goddamn
 Money, hoes, that's something that you can't chase
 I ain't shit but let you eat from the same plate
 If you ungrateful then you ain't great
 Me and Khaled come from the same place
 Huh, holy land, holy land
 Back when I was holding grams just to haul a Benz
 Yeah, holy land, holy land
 My father never was a holy man