Yo, Saturday night, Ridin' past fried chicken What's poppin' we in the mix It's forty below Gate's gotta catch Dr. J's Blowin' my hand, rub on my Tap the glass, stop frontin' duke, fresh of jeans I got loot, eleven in the bass boots Heard a screech pull up, these jukes flashed me five One had my man's mug, semi stepped brother
You the wrong guy son I'm from Melina, yeah we Mr. Coles Flew in two days ago to see his But we watchin' you, crazily The whole Staten shittin' on you Wisdom bird's out in paisley Hold up snow in your ear, fresh baldie to change up Not trunk today, still lookin' fly, slammed up hung Your mom pop in your trunk, slow your Starks your face, copped out the six, five years probat'
You dealin' with a lot of science, motherfucker we're you Make me lick shots at you You me, screwin' me down, grab my gun Go 'head bust me, heard you hate juke that's what it be Hands behind your back, spread legs Just found a roach in your It's not fucker, what I said You met the thirteenth A million dollar operation is based upon it yo
the hell's the riza? He's mics, wildest joints Special to go up in your hand and which went out on point Switched to the scene, I'm at the crib buggin' out On how po' live, plus harassin' the kid Park the in the double face garage Dial one nine raekwon, tell the God, shit's mega Reel flashin' me on bet, planet groove, rap city N A C P committees
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