Print

Take a walk on my side the dark side Where niggas do walk-by's and drive-by's On the corner selling bean pies, no bow ties Mayweather fight, sitting ringside This is were the killers reside The drug dealers collide, and Martin Luther King's dream died Son was 15 and copped a green five By 16 moved out the projects to the east side Moved to that upper east side and leased a high rise Son was young and fresh with mob ties (ugh) Velour sweatsuits [?] Waves spinning like a Beehive (ugh) Hopped out of the X6 jumped in a G5 To drop off some pies in the projects on the west side Somewhere's a Jesus knee high 4-5 stuffed in his Levi's no evidence from CSI Investigated by homicide (ugh) Wanted by the FBI For the murder of a CI who never did testify So it fucked with their case When they found him slumped in the trunk, shot in the face Come talk a walk down these blocks With coke, dope and weed spots Guns cocked ready to squeeze high Thieves hoppin' out yellin' freeze stop Gunshots from out the rooftop (ugh) Letras de cancionesMurder plots for that money that's in the shoebox Come take a walk down these blocks I'm not a trapper i'm a slinger Sapphire in the finger, crib in Antigua My triggerman wears cheetah Sicilian, not a square like a square pizza My wrist glare i'm a rare creature Dip the police, tear a sneaker My niggas hold heat like a fever From here it's all downhill like a skier Line the whips up, talking to Siri in the 8 series With Katie and her fake titties Sippin' Remy on the rocks Monclaire when the airs chilly From playing willy got jammed up in Philly Split em' open like a filling, feel the fury They find you in a trunk in Missouri, all smelly Solicitor of flesh, ridiculous sex A heavy pistol in the Mitchell & Ness Spit the best [?] Triple X suplex, off the roof Mama i'm a juice head The coups' red The crew still move from my tool shed This truth not bootleg The deuce-deuce in the boot by the leg Fly the shoe-head spread Guns WonderBread, it's under the bed Plus a couple in the Dufflebag Take a better look, i'm peddling cook Fiends shooting Heroin in the foot Still play it by the book The grey tops bottled up The hood swallows it up, what the fuck? From Letras Mania