Letras
Red rum on white ones
We don't bite tongues
Where I'm from, you don't run
You better pack guns
He go hard? But don't raise suns
Then he a bum (clown)
The violin sings, violent cries
Than silent whispers
He went live on IG
That's how we found a sister
I'm so bout it like Marcus from Bella Vista (Waddup bout it)
I paint pictures for single mothers
That's struggling, hustling
Off the government, the pot and The oven, Mitt
Keep the stove lit and let's get ninety-six Hov Rich (let's get it)
Since the jit, I've been it
Go ask your chick
Three hammers, one clip
Still too legit
I never prayed for a job
I ask Allah for bricks! (Wa lahi)
Now who am I to say
Put the guns down
When innocent men
Getting gunned down
I suggest we all get a hundred rounds
And ride out at sundown
Let's ride, let's ride
Young Malik shabazz in a durag
Bobby Sale banging out the black jag
George Jackson with a Wayne Perry swag
No punchlines or bars
Just bullet holes and scars
Fist fights in the yard
Sunniworld the mobb
One-third, of a man?
No, nigga, we were gods
(as stagfurllah)
Caviar wish champagne dreams
Brazilian hips that don't inside Jeans
Tell, Dr. Umar, then I'm Idi Amin
Whipping that white Queen