The Old Groove (feat. Novel)

Ayo, where I'm from

These **** shoot bitches and kids

Megabus upstairs

I had 'em taped to my ribs

Stupid motherfucker, ain't find the brick in the fridge

Only got 10K, fuck that

We going back, Lord

(Man, fuck that, man, we going back)

(I told you the fuckin' brick was in the fridge, yo)

10K, fuck that

We goin back, Lord

Pineapple Urus, cocaine purest

Trench on, shit only came outta Europe

My shooter on syrup

The kicks I got on, you never heard of

My Puerto Rican bitch from La Perla

Rub the coke on my gums

The shit was magnifique

Hugged the plug

Told him same time next week

Jewelry fresh, the bitches all on my neck

In the Guggenheim, I had the fold up TEC

Fendi headband, I didn't break a sweat

Same **** had Vicky eatin' out LaVette

This Genovese all over

Wallabees, Cobra, graveyard shift, Motorolas

Brick after brick after brick

Lord, Game over

Ike just came home for a second time

Coulda fucked your bitch

I told her, "Nevermind"

My team viscous walk, talk, eat different

Got a whole brick, I had to remix it

Shit look like Jermaine Dupri whipped it

Dark Ceasar, seasick

Bullets keep hittin'

Tossed the F&N like flea-flicker

Preach, ****

They gettin' money while we richer

Ki flippers

Amiri jeans, Louis V slippers

Outa town

OG shipper to the weed pitchers

You don't ever squeeze your blicker

And that's where we differ

I don't hesitate to bust my chrome

Bar for bar

Can't no **** touch my zone

**** know what the fuck I'm on

Playing spades in the county

And **** know not to touch my phone

My plug a giant in New York

He got the things in

Sent me thirteen to Cleveland

Like the G-Men

Griselda, the championship team

We got the rings in

Mad as fuck

My shooter got deported back to Kingston

Your pockets not deep enough

Do not beef with us

How can we be touched?

You **** don't got reach enough

You not street enough

I will come through your block

And I'll street sweep it up

Griselda, you **** cannot eat with us!

Yeah, that's something that I cannot preach enough

.40 on me homie, I keep it tucked

I'ma keep it a buck

If you a fuck ****, do not speak to us

We got Flee with us

Thirty shot Glocks will heat shit up

Mind ya business, ****

Tuck your paper

When it's on

My shooter Teflon a couple layers

Every day

I put on gold like a fuckin' Laker

Out west

Pushing them foreign shits up La Brea

You know the outcome

When your pedigree is Martin, Malcolm

Don't appreciate you, and when you dead

They study all your albums

I was young and sonnin' them ****

That you call a thousand

I was hustlin', frontin' them old ****

All them ounces

Quarter brick under my mattress

And my father found it

Wanted me out

And all I did is make one call and downed it

I just put my dick in her mouth

You bought that whore Louboutins

I caught a bomb in the A

But don't play for the Falcons

Ain't no linking back with ****

I had a falling out with

They only start that shit with you

So they could talk about it

It's cool

And we can take it as far as y'all allow it

I spin through

Your Gucci hoodie gon' have chalk around it

Yeah, nah, I can't forget them traps

That I had hostage

Walk around with your re-up

In my back pocket

I used your baby mama

For a stash option

I couldn't trust that bitch

So she was my last option

Uh, every time we dropped

We gave hell to ****

So they top five

Got all three Griselda members

Dope spot

A bunch of empty shelves was in it

How I make that brick jump?

I had to put my elbow in it

Let's go

I ain't playing no games

I said this is, my ****, this is, my life

Oh, shit, I said listen, listen

Never had a jump shop

But had a cold pen

Papa was a old pimp

He used to smoke slims

I ain't the one for the tusslin'

Quick to tell a bitch ****

"Do somethin' then!"

Brown Timbs With the Polo fleece, uh

Youngins pushin' packs control those streets

Then po-po would flash the lights tryna find these ****

Them 'Cocaine '80s'

Turned me into a grimy ****

Ooh, it's all about the yams

Mama always told me, "Pay your Uncle Sam"

Single mother, always had us on the lam

Living in them shelters, spaghetti and hot spam, goddamn

Pots down, catch that bus to Campton

On my way to Sunday service with my **** lampin'

Mrs. Harris used to make a mean catfish

We was teens, used to watch the fiends backflip

Talkin' to themselves, sellin' they love

That crack rock is a hell of a drug

In the stash spot, never sell out your plug

Anyone could get shot and killed

So I had to get out for real

'Cause I'm in another zone

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

I'm in another zone

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

'Cause I'm in another zone

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

I'm in another zone

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home

You know the ghetto's home