Lyrics:
chose I
I ain't gonna lie
What I look like turnin' down chocha
Drove by, smokin' lye
Recognize a pimp, open your eyes
Hop in the passenger side
Ayo, I break bread, ribs, hundred dollar bills
Peel on Ducatis and other four wheels
Write a book full of medicine and generate mills
Tour the album
[Verse 1:]
Yeah I run rings around your crew like a track star
So stay back far
You better understand who the macks are
A brand new invention
black cops in cars profilin
Hardcore kids in the West got stress
In the East we are chased by the same black beast
The black cop is the only real
“Blaaatts”
Or walk wit' a new bop, we got some new pots
I see some 40 bigs, I blew off homie wig
And run up in his house and kidnap his only kid
as Stonehenge
Pledged whoever crossed his path get scrapped with a sledge
Hammer, he didn't give a damn about the manor
And on the block he was called by
real.
I'm 'bout to do my thing to shine.
Said everybody
Shine.
See'mon."
It's not luck that I'm sittin' here
Spittin' for y'all.
Preeld in by
I got a new whip
And that girl wanna fuck me think I'm clueless
I might fuck her once and give her two kids
I just keep on grinding I need blue
around you
Not here to bark and hound you, but
You're an archetype for kids like you and me
And if you keep at it you might catch as body in the streets
Watch how you talk
Ooh Yeah
Watch how you walk
Ooh yeah
Get off my block
Block yeah
Look at my socks
Socks bitch
Watch how you talk
Ooh Yeah
Watch
bro, Jackson
By the time you get home, you be hearing this
We be rolling and dog we gon' be
On our King of New York shit
Do the King of New York dance
What keep me up at night, and get me up in the morning is
The love of the money
As kids we used to dream, get a bag by any means for,
For the love
on the blocks
It's early in the morning I'm selling tumbs from my Reebok
Tres nicks and dimes I write rhymes
But the ghetto times they got the cheeks doing
on the blocks
It's early in the morning I'm selling tumbs from my reeboks
Tres nicks and dimes I write rhymes
But the ghetto times they got the cheeks doing
nigga?"
I don't know
Teaching my kids to be like me, and ain't nobody want new shit
Guarantee, you make an album take my vocab, so fuck the mic up
new
Niggas want me dead, for a bag and a
Price on my head, got a price on my head (price on my head)
Night when I rest, with a knife by my bed
Treating the block like it taught me a new religion
Im screaming death to the competition
When will they bring us up in there discussions
when they do it
saw me
I ain't shootin at kids bitch I'm hittin
My target
Plug threw pounds onna block and I told him lob it
Whippin up glass inna kitchen shit lookin
never gonna move out of Jacksonville
I'm livin' in fuckin' Hollywood"
Hmm, you know this is my first, uh, rock slash rap album
So, it's kind of new for
when lights on the street
Coke bottles, sticks, rocks man and fights in the street
Just A kid playing with matches sneaking in buildings for fun
New kid
powder
People hanging in spots
They waited until the blocks got hot
And got raided by the cops
I'll explain the man sleeping in the rain
His whole
the wrong path
Then I prolly woulda got shot
Hope n Praying I don't get shot
While I'm passing thru on the block
Or getting pulled over by the cops
After
get god
You know the Kid Capri shit everybody is on
The N.O.R. hit the mic just like I perform, I be hyped up
New Balance kicks and hyped up
Why you
New York smokin' LA weed
I hate a bitch named Pebbles like LA Reed
I dead niggaz like Pac and Big, blocks to live
These niggaz can't eat like
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