We sit and we wait
And we think, do they care
As we stare deep into their eyes

Verse 1
Mayhem:
Yo Haze, who they better than
I'm a veteran
Now they say "Yo, he tryna be American"
That's a joke, you a wanker with no skills
May is dope, and his gangster is so real
Plus, who run the town like we
I have New York writers tryna sound like me
From a what to a where
A clap to a grin
Hot to this shit, feds of a Loc to a Crip
Hid the game, I'm here now, the blitzers came
Glist the chain, driveby with the Range
See back in New York I would flip the 'caine
And hit the strip with bricks 'til them chips exchanged
See Funk Flex to Dame, Cam'ron and Jimmy, yes
Fred and E, the whole gang is with me
If you didn't listen then, understand me now
Dipset, Roc-A-Fella, we family now, ow

Hook
Haze:
Ma, just a little letter from your son
Just to let you know I'm doing fi-ine
Everyday on the block
Whether rain or snow I'm stuck on my gri-ind
Ma, you ain't gotta pay no bills (no bills)
You know that your sons heart is real (so real)
So stick with me, I'ma get those mils
And make sure that success is sealed
You hear me holla at ya