Jagga Bootz Media, this ain't a hobby, The fog gets thicker, the vision is gone. This ain't a lifestyle, this a feeling of wrong, They ask for the truth, but the answer is numb, I just see the darkness and hear the drum drum.
They ask who's next to flip, who's taking the fall? I don't know if I trust a soul in this hall. They ask for the price for the moves that you made? I don't know if the debt has been fully paid. They ask who's loyal now, who holds the line? I don't know if I can tell the fake from the shine. When the shellings come, who's going to stand? I don't know what the future holds for this hand. Why you still here, why you deep in the trap? I don't know, but there ain't no turning back.
I move with a ghost, fam, every step's a lie, The CID are watching, under a black sky. I check the rearview, three times for the jakes, Every face is a threat, every move that it makes. I don't know the reason why I'm still on this road, I don't know which path will carry this heavy load. We spin the whole gaff when the spot gets too hot, I don't know if the cameras are still on this spot. My life is a knot, a dark web I weave, I don't know what the hell I'm fighting for.
They say money talks, but this paper just screams, Caught in the crosshairs, disrupting the dreams. My phone is on mute, different SIM every week, If the line goes cold, I know one of them's weak. I don't know who's the rat, who's the friend, who's the fiend, The silence is loud when you know you've been seen. The weight of the street has bent all of my spines, I'm reading the shadows for hidden sight lines. I don't know where the loyalty ends or begins, It's a chess game of losses, no way to truly win. They asked for the cost, I showed them the scars, Living a life that's hidden behind closed bars.
We don't deal with small amounts, only the bare Z's, But I don't know if stacking this bread brings me ease. The kitchen is trappy, the smoke gets too thick, I don't know if I can afford to feel sick. We switch the plates up, the dinger is black, I don't know if the police are still on my track. I'm built for the pressure, I'm built for the weight, I don't know if I'm walking toward freedom or fate. Comms on silence, movements are fluid, I don't know who I'm running from, or who I'm pursuing.
They ask how the ops got the drop on the safe? I don't know who's running the gaff. They say "How long 'til the lock turns and you're done?" I don't know if I can run. They say "Did you sleep last night, did you close both your eyes?" I don't know, I just stare at the cold city skies. When the war stops, what will be your plan? I don't know. That's the only truth I know. Jagga Bootz Media. I don't know.
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