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letra de rich porter or pookie - rome streetz

-intro skit-
[verse: rome streetz]
ayo
f-ck a handout i get my own i don’t need ya ends
we was whippin’ work with the stove pilot on medium
weird n-ggas cappin’ about trappin’ we not believing them
i drop it a point if you comin’ to cop at least a ten
gotta couple poppin’ spots like cheetah print
me and my guys divide the pie even thirty three percent
mommy said please repent i’m sinning heavy
still touching bl–dy money ducking dirty d’s in the chevy
kept the pieces in the sleeve of my pelly
so i can serve you right quick with ease, just have all of my cheese ready
that’s how it operates, you ain’t fly you just d-ck ride other n-ggas cause you ain’t got no poppin’ traits
we out for the cake, pretty thots and lobster plates
fly rocks coppin’ potent products that they gotta taste
lock jaws to the zombies by my grand mamas place
ain’t got no time to waste
you dropped a tape don’t give that bullsh-t no time of day (facts!)
every time i rhyme it’s bombs away
can’t f-ck with nothing that the don display
on your best day, claim king n-gga checkmate
see through you fraudulent n-ggas like an x-ray
we blow trees and pop bottles on an opps death date
for the rest got something hot for your chest plate (bow bow)
motherf-ckers
[hook: rome streetz]
blowin’ trees, stone island patches on the sleeve
been active blow the ratchet for the cream
f-ck you mean? bout that action homie f-ck a dream
is you the dealer or the f-ckin’ fiend?
blowin’ trees, stone island patches on the sleeve
been active blow the ratchet for the cream
f-ck you mean? bout that action homie f-ck a dream
is you the dealer or the f-ckin’ fiend?

[verse: rome streetz]
pay the price f-ck your lowball cash offers
we don’t trust knock-off rockers and fast talkers
since a chirp i had orders for the bag snorters
now my thoughts is played all across foreign waters
anything i’m on slaughter, was selling molly to your daughter by the store before i saw a tour bus
ain’t sh-t changed but the size of the package and the n-gga that’s inside of the casket
with the top closed mad stiff thirty thousand hours got it more than mastered
so when i rap with whoever be sure to get they ass kicked
my rap style is foul forty-cals and acid tablets
tribulations and trials dirty dough in my baggage
chicks i made put the work by they p-ssy to stash it
speedin’ fast on the road to everything lavish
blowin’ smoke viewin’ snakes through these carti glasses
i chop they head they blood splat on my jacket fabric
i get mine cause my game intact
better be some of the illest sh-t you ever heard if my name attached
dope to fiends hear faithfully till they veins collapse
buy and sell it three times what i paid i’m making back

- rome streetz

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