I make 'em nod like ketamine
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See them live might dive off the mezzanine
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Ground drama, sound harder than crowd bonkers
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I'm 'bout dollars, I touch down in your town, holla
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INS, gladiator, call him Hustle Crowe
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Son of pro, watch these lame niggers come and go
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Blessed with the poison pen
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Murder was the case so I guess it's them boys again
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Through your duce high, salute I, be the general
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The last one to run, I will take all ten of you
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I'm feeling myself BK willing to belt
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Rocking my shit, eyes on the real wealth
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Me and Goldie tell 'em it's easy money
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Now shorty wanna fuck, that's sleazy, honey!
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Fame call us, money, it change all us
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Get it how you live it or sing the same chorus.
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The game taught us, nothing in the bank for us
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W claim walrus, yeah, Wu-Tang for life.
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Was raised on the island of the misfits
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The children of the corn snatch your green with the biscuits
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It's what you might call food for thought
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And what's the killer season if you don't include the salt
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This thought will start a feud and leave your whole mood distraught
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Used to feel safe until they unscrewed your vault and
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Took your common sense out your memory bank
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Then dumped on you like missiles over enemy tanks
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So hommie, drop slow like you in front of five-O
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'cause forks go in a road and your back is where the knives go
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While the addicts hiding silver spoons
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Being cut so deep, it's hard to heal the wounds
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Those flashing don't blast, they still buffoons
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Just blowing on hot air, they should fill balloons
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Yo, I like them shorties that'll kill for goons
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And start a hustle in an April to cop wheels in June.
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Mt. Everest
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Andrew Kelley |