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letra de freestyle w/ amplafire (foreword vol. 2) - poison pen

[intro: amplafire]
amplafire. ay, yo, yo, yo

[verse 1: amplafire]
the streets is watching—sh-t y’all learned from [?]
stressed, they burning haze. it seem like every b-tch is turning g-y
n-ggas get their loot the murder way. you could
win an -ss-whooping and turn around and lose a vertebrae
decapitators, so hold your head. they hit
the bakery to cop toast and buy the whole loaf of bread
ammunition and the scope displayed. the plan
and mission is to close down shop when they open lead
(surprise!) they hopping out of nothing but wheels
[?] what the f-ck is the deal if they’re clutching the steel?
criminils are running your crib, posing as federales
you’ll get fed the shottie—disconnect you from your head and body
that’s for sending kites. friends trying to spend their life
locked up, their motive is money. is you men or mice?
pockets swollen, holding numbers. they’re in the fourth room
rolling lumber, put you on ice ([?] you hold this summer)

[interlude 1: poison pen]
shc. stronghold

[verse 2: poison pen]
y’all can’t bend my shoes. baby gangsters
still busting little .22s. (vast aire)
had your b-tch surrounded in a city pool (b-tches)
my palm’s on the back of her neck. know what i want her to do? (ha)
face the facts: y’all don’t get -ss. ask shorty
for a little head, she give you a size 6 hat
when i win, i’ll pose in front of your residence (so do what?)
ask like george bush joggers, son—run your presidents out
step on your kicks on purpose. could tell your b-tch -ss
fighting just ain’t worth it. the wordsmith
speak with the stunning english and the b-tches love me
‘cause i’m a cunning linguist. (you’s a gangster?)
i’m a nonbeliever. there’s more to hustling
than reading don diva, mealy-mouth f-ggot
[?] brooklyn now. you was
on fire, wouldn’t p-ss on you to put it out
yeah

- poison pen

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