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letra de summertime grind - stat quo

in that soy sauce a day and i sit
sipping sake with a slanted eyed b-tch
she wondering how i get chips
i’m wondering do she l!ck p-ssy, can she suck d-ck
blackberry ringing constant for the ghost writer
k!lling sh-t without a resume…
murder for hire
bare witness to the birth of an empire
diddy told me when n—-s hate you they really admire
couldn’t help but feel inspired
i saw biggie in his eyes n—a no lie
more fuel for my tank street car desire
let me ride till there’s no tread left on my tires
and that’s word to the chronic
even though i’m smoking kush, i feel i gotta pay homage
young mohammed; being broke, something i can’t stomach
so, i vomit when the money ain’t coming
for the record, i ain’t puked in a minute
earl the pearl spinning moves
buy it all,f-ck renting
as the judge hands down another sentence
putting periods on n—-s lives…
getting paid, getting p-ssy, n—a getting high
i’m getting frustrated, cos all this wack sh-t is getting by
i guess they getting it, while the gettings good
eighty per cent of all rappers end up back in the hood
and them n—-s in cleats and sneakers…
suffer the same fate; poverty pleased to meet ya
i let other peoples failure be my teacher
so i hustle like its 89 wheres’ my beeper?
street sweeper, get their brooms out
leaving kids in your girls mouth
i let em run around her throat like when schools out
we at the w…
that p-ssy sweet
what a f-cking view!
you know the hoes don’t get to see the house
i make em pay for directions, pimp sh-t
let them tricks spend and take em out
these b-tches say i got issues… magazines
with my face on the cover, make my ex’s scream
like the performer of billie jean
i’m f-cking with the doctor
demerol in my bars…detox
though i left the roster
f-ck with the safe you gonna see the chopper
plenty moxy; swagging out in hollywood
middle finger to the paparazzi, cuz i keep it hood
get the picture?
if you don’t, then you probably should
you don’t understand cuz your -ss never understood
eating good till it turned into a food fight
n—-s claiming they need money, but really need advice
started with a slice then i bought my own dominoes
i thought my problems would up and go
with more money… more potholes in the road
a drop top will leave you more exposed
in the booth in my church clothes
telling god what he already knows
its my sanity i do it fo
f-ck the world till shes my hoe
pockets on rex ryan on my feet b-tch
fetish for that lettuce, but i’m careful who i eat with
n—-s will k!ll you at the table quick
have you stuck upstream, lost feeling sea sick
to move forward you gotta get over the past
if not, go around, and tell bygones to kiss your -ss
toast of the town, but no champagne in my gl-ss
just blood sweat and tears flying high, hope i never crash
cuz i’m just trying be who my father wasn’t…
and represent for my dead cousin
i’m at the bank like f-ck it
on my summertme grind
stat quo!
you gotta love it!

- stat quo

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