Now look how your life stares, in a barrel and I swear
I wouldn't let a platinum ghost, jack me in a nightmare
I got that paranoia for you, trigga finger gon destroy you
And if that trigga finger don't get you, get the number to my lawyer
I hold court with Ben Franklin, I talk with my bread
Soon as I let him out that briefcase, it's off with your head
Can't negotiate with the heater either, talk to the lead
And talk to your head, when it's finished you'll walk with the dead
I call the police they'll probably get him, by the end of the week
I call the streets, they gon get him before the end of the street
With the end of the heat, to set flame to the end of his suite
The end of his feet, will be poking out the end of a sheet
Hold up I'm just saying though, has this happened befo' naw
But no law, gon keep these hollows from entering your jaw
If it's my money or my family, or my woman or my car
I'm headed to that blood bank, I'm bout to make a withdrawl

[Chamillionaire]