Lyrics
Sleep with one eye open, tryna roll up, already high smokin'
Tightropin' middle of the street, stood on all type of business
Triple-A with them bricks, don't need no roadside assistance
Bo J just another bad creation, guess I'm Michael Bivins
I'm the type of guy get you fitted for a suit and tie whistlin'
It's a ribbon in the sky, don't make me slice the ribbon
You the type to cry on your bid and commit suicide
I'm the type to move blocks of dry ice just to go ice a pendant
At the cost of my own expense, that merchandise expensive
Felt like Boston George when he met his first flight attendant
All across the board, got it covered, felt like Bobby Fischer
Can't call on the Lord when karma comin', just hope God be with you
In my city, niggas die for crumbs sellin' flock and crystal
Most these niggas postin' all these guns never shot a pistol
It's my intention as a Creature, streets is my addiction
Got these niggas followin' the leader without my permission
Heard he got chipped, call and check in, make sure your mans cool
Youngin be Game Timin' shit but this ain't FanDuel
We smoked his bro, they killed my mans, that's a win-lose
But overall, nobody wins when the fam' feuds
It's on the dance floor, make sure you bring your dance shoes
Or end up in a shelter like the basement of Saint Andrews
Bring of dog in a silver pack, it look like canned food
Two-step the blow, shit, I've been workin' on my dance moves
Took work advance, this shit been handlin' out the Ramada
Forbidden dirty dance, I made it split, do the lambada
My mind ain't wrapped too tight, try me and lose your appetite
My line be crackin' like I be directin' traffic lights
Got two left feet but I get jiggy, we be all groovin'
Gangsters don't dance but I keep them yams ballroomin'
The raw boomin', fishscale look like some raw tuna
Ten blocks, time to clear out the spot, might have to call Puna
Shavin' the extras off the top just like my mama poodle
Drop it in the pot and watch it swell up like some ramen noodles
Met the connect at Morello, sat down and had some brunch
Now I got five hundred grams in a empty box of Captain Crunch
Heard he got chipped, call and check in, make sure your mans cool
Youngin be Game Timin' shit but this ain't FanDuel
We smoked his bro, they killed my mans, that's a win-lose
But overall, nobody wins when the fam' feuds
It's on the dance floor, make sure you bring your dance shoes
Or end up in a shelter like the basement of Saint Andrews
Bring of dog in a silver pack, it look like canned food
Two-step the blow, shit, I've been workin' on my dance moves