Yo
Saturday night, Uptown
Riding past Kansas Fried Chicken
What's popping kid? We in the mix
It's chilly 40 below
Gate's closed gotta catch Dr. J's
Blowing my hand, rub on my nose
Tap the glass, stop fronting Duke, fresh pair of jeans
Look I got loot, eleven in the Bass boots
Heard a screech pull up, these Jakes flashed me five pictures
One had my man's mug, Semi stepped brother hugs
You asked the wrong guy son
I'm from Melina, yeah we know Mr. Coles
Flew in two days ago to see his fam'
But we been watching you, crazily
The whole Staten Island shitting on you
Wisdom Bird's pregnant out in Baisley
Hold up snow in your ear, fresh baldie tried to change up
Not trunk today, still looking fly, still slammed up hung
Your mom pop in your trunk, slow your pace
Starks fixed your face, copped out the 6, five years probat'
You dealing with a lot of science, motherfucker we're watching you
Make me want to lick shots at you
You disgust me, screwing me down, grab my gun
Go 'head bust me, heard you hate Jake that's what it must be
Hands behind your back, spread your legs
Just found a roach in your tray
It's not mine fucker, what I said
You met the 13th nigga
A multi-million dollar operation is based upon it yo
Where in the Hell's the RZA?
He's selling mics, wildest joints
Special made to go up in your hand and which went out on point
Switched to the next scene, I'm at the crib bugging out
On how po' live, hating plus harassing the kid
Park the truck in the double face garage
Dial 1-900-Raekwon, tell the God shit's mega
Reel flashing me on BET, Planet Groove, Rap City News
NAACP committees

Copyright: Spirit Music Group
Writer(s): Carlos Daronde Broady, Dennis D Coles