Nigga, this is not a fictional tale, this sh*t real
Who’s sittin’ in the Bookings? Charge, direct sale
Third shootout... we was fightin’ for positions
Shell casings out my 9 flyin’ through your mama kitchen
Paper we stack it, yeah, pistols we pack it
You f**k around, we’ll blow your heart out the back of your jacket
Bitch, get down or lay down, my work is that chach
‘Cause he got big, now he lieutenant so he sit there and watch
I swear to God I think I had the same vision that K had
Woke up sayin’ “we gon’ turn them corners to Baghdad”
Yeah, we was young, but we had guns, we started juxing ni**as
All you hear is Boo-Boo f**kin’ with them Brooklyn ni**as
I had supreme schemes, call it Wall thoughts
Start shootin’, I bet I’ll clear off the ball court
I want it all, that’s just how I f**kin’ feel, boy
Get in the way, you gon’ take you a trip to Deramores
I’m dreamin’ of...
My dream of freedom...
[:: VERSE 2 ::]
This is to big bags of bread and some coke, ni**a
You can get with the program, fam’ll get smoked, ni**a
We was a school of sharks – a bunch of young soldiers
Open your head when you’re half dead – you see? I told you
On the island, got that burner, got the flamethrower
A couple ni**as got blown, I got my name known
Over the phones, soon as I’m home, the game’s sewn
I got connections – look, bitch, I’m connected
And I ain’t givin’ ni**as no passes, so respect it
Or get dealt with, I’ll break you off proper
You ready to die, huh? Too much Big Papa
Easy – ni**a chill or get laid out
I’ll put a hole in you then find out what your gang ‘bout
I do my dirt, I’m hardly ever by my lonely
I got that tek with that cooling system on me, homie
You think you want it? You don’t want it with me, homie
[:: VERSE 3 ::]
We stackin’ paper ‘til we strong then we takin’ over
Grab a gat, bring the crack back with baking soda
Bridge the gap, get slapped, actin’ like you know us
North Pole, nah, Southside produce the colas
We’re the last of our litter, this is what they taught us
We’ve got to kill what we eat, that ni**a came up on us
If you ain’t gamblin’, get the f**k out the spot, boy
Shoot an ace off your foot, that’s some sh*t you should get shot for
F**k it, when I win I’m a winner – when I lose, I’m a winner
‘Cause to my ni**as y’all ni**as lookin’ like steak dinner
You screw your face the f**k up, you goin’ through what?
The strap big enough in my truck to chew your crew up
Nigga stand down or get manned down
Mack, two clips, 30 rounds plus 30 rounds, flip it around
You gon’ f**k around and get jammed up, blammed up
Hit your spine, a standup ni**a can’t even stand up
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