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letra de s.o.t.b. - rmc mike

[intro]
(enrgy made this one)
sh-t
b-tch
yeah
alright

[verse]
b-tch, i was born a savage, no macho man
told brodie this sh-t on the floor like i dropped a band
n-gga said he poured a three up, then why your pop so thin?
mama said get money and go home, you ain’t got no friends
sh-t, i’m like, “you d-mn right”
turned into a fiend, we droppin’ fours in a canned sprite
hit her from the back off a perc’, she like, “d-mn, mike”
her n-gga broke and can’t make no cheese, he a ham, right?
i just did one-twenty in a scat’ down van dyk-
the p-ssy wack, i give the b-tch back like, “what your friend like?”
goldie drunk my last deuce of wock’, we had a hand fight
stuffed a lot of blues in her coochie, it was jammed tight
me and ri’ made some dog sh-t while he fight the feds
we are not into shootin’ up cribs, we take lives instead
at this point, sh-t, i’ll pay whatever for a pint of red
movin’ on to big and better things, the old mike is dead
sixty racks hangin’ off my neck ’cause i grind for it
your b-tch cheated with me ’cause you ain’t never got no time for her
twelve hundred for them new dior sneaks, i paid nine for ’em
new diamondback fn, that b-tch sound like a lawnmower
ten milli’ got two beams on ’em, i switch ’em back and forth
lil’ man pulled up to do a tat, i told him black the porsche
mama asked me what’s up in my cup, it’s act’, of course
don’t ask me if i got a gun on me, i’m strapped, of course
militant-minded like my pops and we’ll go to war
flint town got a name now ’cause we opened doors
thirty-seven hundred for this jacket, it came velour
steppin’ on these n-ggas hard as f-ck, we had to change the floor
we just dropped another opp, they had to change the score
b-tch legs shakin’ hard like she never came before
i like that sh-t better than the verse, bro, change the chorus
left my white b-tch and got rich, that’s a paid divorce
strapped up in my gucci slides with the fur in ’em
i put forgiatos on the truck just to swerve in ’em
hit him seven times with a k, broke a nerve in him
military-issued bullets came with a curve in ’em
ghetto boy n-gga, that’s the clique and i’ma hold it down
i hate a n-gga actin’ like he rich when it’s hoes around
threw a hundred on her lap, she looked back with the joker smile
brodie, i just dropped another opp, okay, over, out
grown b-tch wanna f-ck me bad, she seen the ap
silenced fn soundproof like some dre beats
i’m finna shoot a bad motherf-cker, call hd
my security’ll whack a n-gga quick, shout out kb
d water, bust an addy down, i’m finna take with you
ten milli’ hit a n-gga in his head, erasin’ tissues
n-gga tried to run off with a bag, he raced the pistol
pauly goin’ back overseas ’cause he makin’ missiles
f-ck a b-tch once and don’t cuff, i am not a cop
n-ggas steady tryna buy my plr ’cause it’s out of stock
i’m the big man in the paint, knock him out the box
they like, “mike, why you ain’t got no kids?” ’cause i condom shop
f-ck it, if i meet the right one, i might make me one
barry pulled up with perc-30s, had to take me one
i know i’m legal, but i just popped a n-gga with my aunty gun
handsome n-gga, but i make an ugly face when she make me cum
[outro]
sh-t
yeah, i’m on that, b-tch
rmc, ghetto boyz sh-t, n-gga
free rio
n-gga, free benji
n-gga, matter fact, free the whole f-ckin’ ghetto, n-gga, it’s on

- rmc mike

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