Niggas know I¡¯m the fucking best, word up!
|
Can¡¯t fuck with me, straight up!
|
You know we getting it, straight up!
|
I stay close to the Baretta
|
Folks that wave toast, know better
|
Gross cheddar, cut it up
|
Throw it in the shredder
|
Hoes sniff lines off of broken mirrors
|
I throw five at your smoke tinted, rented
|
You hope to try to dip it like Emmitt
|
Your image is translucent like a bent ceiling
|
I see you trying to blend in like a chameleon
|
Gun wielding, I¡¯m on the low, I feel shielded
|
But that¡¯s a false sense of fulfillment
|
Debts are paid in the death parade
|
Shots are exchanged from the Escalade
|
My late father¡¯s name in the chest, engraved
|
A pound and three grams
|
With the necklace weighed
|
Man, a character
|
Get clapped up in your Challenger
|
The glock 9¡¯s black with the silencer
|
I¡¯m a bachelor flip pies without the spatula
|
You died in the Valentine massacre
|
Crime ambassador
|
My capturers channel my spirit
|
Through the shrine in Africa
|
I fly past like a time traveler
|
CHORUS
|
It all boils down to that green mama
|
Niggas squeeze llamas
|
Just to seize dollars
|
D¡¯s and Impalas, street scholars
|
Hopping out of V¡¯s with them clean Prada¡¯s
|
Sip pina coladas
|
With a mean goddess
|
We eastsiders, jeans is knotted
|
Niggas don¡¯t want it
|
Like the HIV virus, word up!
|
Wounds and bandages, food and cannabis
|
Money management, advantages, damages
|
The Spanish fans break banisters
|
Gates, and parameters
|
They see us wearing chains and amulets
|
Handle this, evangelist condo in Los Angeles
|
That kind of dough will hold your hand a pimp
|
Once away at my descent, my hair is rich
|
I forever swear to spit that Blair Witch
|
Bare witness to rare shit
|
Stare Benzes like airships
|
You can¡¯t get this pimping out a pamphlet
|
Millionaire hand print from a tan prince
|
The gear you wear get rinsed
|
Buy the tec wit the air vents
|
I caress the wood gear shift
|
You¡¯re weak tomb won¡¯t move me
|
Not a square inch
|
Spit your zucchini tear swift
|
Your CTS, tail spent
|
BBS rim well bend
|
Man of the cloth
|
That bullshit endless talk ran its course
|
Blam fours til you abandoned the fort
|
Got birds like Le Coq Sport at the port
|
Salt water on the yacht floorboard
|
Popping wine cork
|
These are just a crime boss thoughts
|
(CHORUS)
|
Yeah, yeah nigga! East Coast shit! Fuck with me!
|
|
-----------------
|
Death Parade
|
Roc Marciano |