letra de streets - 9-fo
16 & he thinking of murder tactics, his neighborhood is tragic & the murder pics are graphic
if n-gg-s are problematic, they’ll solve em with automatics, similar to antennas, they, take care of the static; leaving n-gg-s bodies reeking, dead bodies not aromatic
& the violence is catastrophic, peace is quixotic, cuz these crackers out cher despotic
n-gg-s be outta pocket so stay with something to clack, n-gg-s move like shiesty b-tches who purposely spread the pack, no problem with taking advantage of n-gg-s who ain’t strapped
the youngin is on a mission, trigger finger is itching, he scratching & wanting friction, equipped with artillery, bussing the ammunition
life is full of choices; you got to live with decisions, he follow the wrong n-gg-s of his own volition
aspirations for licks; street accomplishments, them field goals ain’t good remind me of missed kicks
he wanna be with the sh-ts, thuggin out with his clique
the youngin just wanna hang; they rob a n-gg- for change, remind me of oxi clean cuz they spray when they hit them stains
it’s simple & plain, lil homie wanna do the same to get that fame to his name, that fame ain’t gone mean nothing when a bullet put in yo brain
catching bodies a hobby, gun em down with the shortly, head shots or body
stripped of his morality, turning n-gg-s to casualties
corrupted trapped seed, the youngin is packing heat; got iron for enemies, worse than anemia when he making them p-ss-es bleed
chronic, he off the trees but he graduated from weed; addicted to sipping lean
not knowing it’s really heroin, nodding & getting his sleep on
no telling what he drinking when you see him sipping from cup, just know that it may be lean/maybelline just like some make up. & the streets is full of sinners& trouble keep on calling, no saints in these cold streets with a breeze/brees like new orleans
lil homie is out cher balling, the money it keep on calling sell & use his own product but money still in his pocket
he clocking & making dollars, the hustle i cannot knock it
do it to fit in, he gossip on how he profit, ears & eyes are open; the feds are listening & watching
& his homies is plotting, smiling in his face but that sh-t is sardonic
his crew see him in jewels, nothing but jealous dudes are some of the worst sinners, throw salt on em cuz he icy like concrete in the winter
set him up to kill him, yea they opened fire but the shots missed him
lucky to be alive, running these cold streets, these crackers want us dead & he could of been deceased
taught to stand tall, them n-gg-s you trying to be like wasn’t raised at all
you better get out your ego, it’s time to be a boss & elevate the ones that’s lost in the sauce
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