Lyrics:
down
Turn around and look back
Scrub the ground now
Wobble Wobble
Make it clap
Is that camel
Or yo a... crack
I can't tell
Man im blinded
By your
they showin' us love
And by the time we leave
They throwin' up dubs
I've been in this shit
Almost got 10 in this shit
Your favorite rapper I done been in
call me masturbator
Pull out my dick, then I nut in a sec
Was called by my teacher and got an erection
Lil Iron's fucking shitty
How many racks? Bitch I
[Repeat x2]
Is it my cars, is it my clothes
That make these ho's want fuck fo' sho
Is it my style the way I roll
That makes these haters want
[Repeat x2]
Is it my cars, is it my clothes
That make these ho's want fuck fo' sho
Is it my style the way I roll
That makes these haters want
If a nigga was blind to the fact I'd understand why y'all niggas die by the trap
Seems like the only way a nigga up is selling crack, but
This ain't
[Intro: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Fuck these hoes, it's the re-do, you know how we do
Every Single Bitch y'all
From the Psycho Active album, by my nigga X
Room was posting things, they ain't understand how I'm living, slime
But they wouldn't understand how I'm twenty clockin' over ten million now, huh?
I
for bags
Yeah the bags of crack you just go suck a guy off wheres your daughter oh fack cause im at least 10 n' No I don't give a crap no hairs on my
at
Brooklyn beef! Who want that?
I grew up in the thoroughest borough - B.K.
Where B.I.G. had everybody rockin' D.K.
Gav was the first dude with the C.L.K.
daughter
My baby died I won't love anymore nah
I'm smoking through my thoughts
Dreading court selling crack at crack of dawn
Big yawns we all started with
Fuck around lay around do or die (Repeat x3)
"You figgedy fuck around you lay around"
Word to Joe Frazier got ta do what pays ya
Give a nigga
like Rick Flair
Standin' by the Mobil gas station with a flamethrower
and a fuckin lawnmower, throwin big lighters at your fuel tank
I smash your face in
Uh-huh, aw yeah (sounds like you got something to say)
Sippin' from this holy grail (holy grail)
I get motivated by myself (yeah)
The hustle
Imports
Exports
Nike Air Tech IVs
Never tired of ballin' so we on to the next sport
I'm the one they check for
They copy me like 10-4
Give it all I
this world, I don't abide by them
And for food, my fam need the fine options
We gone stop all these noodles and hot pockets
Find another income, we are
on my ten toes count me outta the weak ones
Stocky 6ft plus nigga you can call me a big one
RIP to trap souls we Gon tell you how we won
I don't follow
V's
And yeah, I'm still at the store,
I'm posted with the bro
The police think I'm out there sellin' crack
but I ain't touchin' dope,
I told big cuz I
take you through a tunnel of thought
Wit no support now you got caught off guard
By the number one scar from the Illa-Fifth
Lyrically fulfillin' this
a playa by nature, but I'm a hustla by trade
You need to roll with Baby Bash in the Escalade
We big tippers, syrup sippers, bird flippers
I'm the one
(Yo, yo check this out, yeah motherfuckers)
(Come on motherfuckers, B.I.G. motherfuckers)
Too much smoke in here man
Crack a fucking window man,
on a track while I run slow
Two top tens a gold disc aint bad for a kid from the blown bits
Or you might get stabbed in the boat quick
By familiar flows
write the good rhymes
The whole scenery reminded me of good times
I don't like to feel that I'm put in a rut
By a young nigga that needs to pull his
the collar
The girl I was waiting for came out
I said bitch I didn't know this was a crack house
I got my coat and suddenly
The cop busted in and had a mac-10
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