Lyrics:
Fuck the Cuban, they callin' to get the tennis back
Already sold it, ain't no gettin' it back, ah
I could teach you how to rob a rapper
I could
get sore
Your fellow man you must adore
There's time to rob him all the more
The other three hundred and sixty-four
Relations, sparing no expense,
it rain on my side bitch, shout out to my main
Fell in love once, and I never been the same
Lil Tracy, I used to rob, but I shop now
Comin' up, I
out the mix
I got this pressure on me
My dawg depend on me
My mom depend on me
Got lil Shorty depending on me
I got this pressure on me
Pressure
lotta carats, yeah)
Fuck your wife, no marriage (no marriage)
Lil' Rob just hit it (Lil' Rob just hit it)
Then she suck my brother (then she suck my
This is no kid and I'm no toy boy
Rock, get up, get down
Miuzi weighs a ton
I'm a Public Enemy but I don't rob banks
I
Word to the pusher, nigga never kept a job
Boobie gave me game
We used to sell dope and rob
I left a stain off in Carol City
My last name should
going deeper to the dark
Point of no return, following the evil, running from the Lord
Hatred in the heart
Poison ? a nigga use to play and trade toys
neck and wrist, aye
(Lil Boat)
When I pull to the scene
Trailed by some shooters
Young rich nigga livin' wild
All my niggas ruthless
My diamonds
nothin' twice
I came up off of shootin' dice, yeah
My lil' brother ain't livin' right
My sis' and 'em doin' aight
My cuz and 'em still servin' life,
friends (no, no, yeah)
'Cause not many of us have them, I'm talkin' 'bout friends (let's talk about it)
Not ones we can depend on (go), friends
I
later, goin' hard like we used to
On the dead homies
On the dead homies
I don't give a fuck about no politics in rap, my nigga
Our lil' homie Stunna
the mouthpiece of a ventriloquist
When I'm talking business, I barely move my lips
I don't want no suckers and counterfeits in my mix
I don't want them around
front pages
Young niggas catching bodies, ain't no relations
I was stacking Ben Franks in Labasa, Fiji
They rob you two times in a row, that's a repeat
dead folks
You know my eyes nice and low like I make egg rolls, oh
I got them pills, we call 'em illies
I got the wet, I'm water whippin'
I rob his
Joey, you want one?
I've been runnin' off on plugs
I need to rob another one
I've been rubbin' off on all these niggas
'cause they steal the sauce
You do it big I do it bigger
I'mma pipe your ass down
I'mma young rich nigga
I be blowing by the pound
My eyes I can barely lift 'em
I ain't nothing
Nigga almost died tryna get some weed
So don't be fooled by the palm trees
This Compton nigga, that 310
That 213, we on Death Row
Ain't no one escape
ain't got no more emotion for these hoes
I been trippin out but I'm finished now
Up up in the clouds roll the windows down
John Paul Gaultier mix it with
and you
Lovin' all the beautiful work we've done cara mia
And it's barely July
If we keep on boppin' until Labor Day
Li'l miz Abbie bye bye
it's still Gucci luggage
I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with grey eyes
Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? -
cold]
Lil' Bizzy got stress for to peep the streets,
and none of these police holice know me,
still wanna pop that bitch
bitch. No .
Krayzie:
Now, come
it's still Gucci luggage
I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with grey eyes
Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? -
(Niggas in the hood)
I'm 'bout my profit, if I rob plug, I'm the socket
Run that shit up, bitch, I'm Sonic
Feelin' iconic, need my dick wet, I'm
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