Lyrics:
No I.D.
Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it
On the 101, my wife text me
Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed
niggas don't be saying nothing
But keep on talking, you ain't ready for beef
Jay Rock down to bust a
Nigga head in the streets i can't help it
The hood
niggas don't be saying nothing
But keep on talking, you ain't ready for beef
Jay Rock down to bust a
Nigga head in the streets i can't help it
The hood
to a cell block
Just to get some Polo and some shell tops
Cold world and they say hell's hot
But it ain't hotter than that choppa when them shells drop
And a hope deep down inside
They say the streets are paved with gold
But it sure looks kind of cold outside
Steppin' on the sidewalk with the stars beneath
bitch where is your heart
You mark
Watch niggas fall when I call they name
We outlaws hold your head niggas all the same
Except some who want more out
Snoop Dogg]
They call the D-O-dub
Why you really trippin' cuz
21, 20 crips and all of us is crippin' cuz
We from a different street, all got that
buy
My homies rolled by in a bucket, but they ain't short and duckin'
Slappin' niggas known for tellin' bitches fuck it in the late night
"Last
invades the minds of youngsters
Where it's pitch black they can't see you
Godfather 3, fallin for dead, in a cathedral
Now you're forced to listen, I got
my hands are dirty but still can't touch me
In this game, if you clean, you can get all the money
When it starts gettin' dirty they look at you funny
can see how it leans, this thang is like an' airplane you park in the street,
Mean, it's so vicious call me young, all the wishes 'cause I wished for
or Gucci pouches
Send ‘em to they spouses
We back in the street
Cooking up them ounces
From a quarter to a ki’
Call me "Place-Your-Order P, " c’est la vie
If
the East, South and West
Street soldiers holdin' it down for they vets
[C-Murder]
I'm see-Murder, murder mass ten, I'm wit' the Dirty Bastard
And my
it's beef
Out here in these streets
Everybody tryna eat off the same plate
Dead presidents, we want the same face
And to think, me and the president,
on the out-of-work streets
Before he began to understand
Before he began to understand
And Joe got hired by a bowery bar
sweeping up the saloon
As his rag would
As the world keeps turning chronic keeps burning
(This ain't no) street sermon these niggas are determined
I flow like CD's in the deck
Red John by K.A.A.N
Red John
You can say, say, say, say what you want, huh
They can talk, talk, talk, talk all they want, huh
223, 7.62, call murder
M-O-E, Murder Of Everything in front of us
And can't nobody stop it, because the reaper's coming to cancel every one of us
And it's all gravy, all of my
they all on me
They smiles phony
Its hard to determine who really is rich or which of these niggas is fake
They tryna eat out of yo plate
And you
Hanging mother fuckers my there neck off of street lights
With there legs cut off tryin to read me rights (shiiit)
I whip my cd at you, stick it in yo face
polaroids
And I'm tryna to use the phone but they makin' noise
Man I wish I had my glock cause its major
I'm makin' shanks out the plastics in razors
and he chewed off my eyebrows
And I took out his appendix and he gave me a colonic irrigation
Yes indeed, you better believe it
And somehow in
the streets
(Boomer)
It’s a lot of rats and snakes
(Rats)
A lot of people fake in these streets
(They is)
So I’m staying ten toes down
Cause that’s all I know
collapse
Starin' at the world from a different
View like my crooked eye do
Hold my beach cruiser as I ride by you
With my Glasses on, shout out to Malone
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