Lyrics:
Greeks and Gurads on the line no need to state
Versace couches sandals, candles and matching plates
This picture better than Bosciach greatest endeavor
Writer's Block
I'm so tired of seeing talent
Being robbed corporate bandits
Playing same demographics
Such a shame unestablished
Under managed
need to hit the trap line
Hit me on the trap line
Mama going through them bad vibes
Fuck boy on the trap side
Mama, come and get the sack right
The first time I hit the wax it was the news of my block
Everybody in my neighborhood said "Puba don't stop"
It was a four-man crew, Don Barren
My
F to the A to the M
Ya ain't fucking with them
Nah way
Well put grove to ya block
When we shoot up ya block
All day
We just be shakin him down
and that's the bottom line
But I know when there's a drought on the block
You move slow, you gettin' pressure from cops
You don't know whether or not to lay
and praying I'm stuck
Scoping, they lay in the cut, weighing my luck
Player haters play this in cell blocks and rock stages
Winking at some females cops with
the shoe fit's
It’s ooh niggas through living
Ain’t nobody gon stop me
Put in work, I deserve my shine
All my life tryna block me
Hit the verse I’m a make
prophets
You can't hit my line if you ain't talking profit
I'm always with Ben Frank you might as well say I stalk him
Get it off the block I think I'm Ben
fam' hang in the balance
You the king, and your block is the palace
Y'all niggas is the parliament, untouchable, spot unrushable
Keep your weight wet,
affair, ghetto love affair (what?)
Tell me what you know about your man huggin' blocks, all night
When he should be home huggin' you
Ooh
(Tell me if you
with number nine, uh
Little brother, he servin' time
I just hope he don't even lose his mind
I ain't the richest but I'm in line
Speakin' of lines
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was cruisin' with your top down, Fourth of July
I was movin' down the block, we got caught at the light
Out my window, I
He drop me signs each time i dropped a line
Shout out to Moma always told me that the world was mines
Beating down the block so all these
He drop me signs each time i dropped a line
Shout out to Moma always told me that the world was mines
Beating down the block so all these
to Purple Ribbon, prime-time official
Killer Mike, y'all
Killer kill from the ville, go hard on the rhyme
Like a junkie on powder I go hard every line
I'm
all across the land
There's no need to argue
Parents just don't understand
"parents" 24 lines, 734 characters.
I remember one year
My mom took me
dome, pickin' yo brain
Look at the plane, keepin' the game
Shootin' stars, give it yo pain
Lay down, stay down
Swift line, I don't play around
Zuluu
From the jump i'm on the front line
I was train to go
Always ready nigga what you mean hoe
Never fold when its crunch time
Hit the block fuck
I'm hurtin'
Legend in two games like I'm Pee Wee Kirkland
Platinum on the block with consistent hits
While Pharrell keep talking this music shit
affair, ghetto love affair (what?)
Tell me what you know about your man huggin' blocks, all night
When he should be home huggin' you
Ooh
(Tell me if you
it how I hit it
We ain't spoken in a minute, but she back up on my line
Yeah she back up on my line
Yeah she back up on my line
Yeah she back up on my
Pollutants arriving, the kids are all fighting
Why turn your cheek, block reality
For in blind faith, you look the other way
You sittin' pretty,
sir)
High, dry, tough guy
(Your beats are at the office, sir)
White line, feels fine
(Your beats are at the office, sir)
Don't want responsibility
Just
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