Da Mob (feat. Rick Hyde & Heem)

(These are the real Sopranos)

Look, I just spend a quarter chick and now I'm worth a quarter ticket

Put a quarter in my backies, give a quarter to my bitches

Ever since a quarter century, I been raking up the digits

All these dollars out of quarters, I should give a course in vending

Bought the Razorbacks like Arkansas, then Butcher taught me blending

Turn a four into seven, then you hit the block and kill it

That's how I fed my mama and three other little siblings

Not to mention my children, shit, everybody winnin'

Took a gamble just to get here, the risk-takers gon' get theirs

Or I'm getting a checkerboard, AKA a big square

Break it down in fair chances, then we going square-dancin'

From Charlotte, back to New York and Miami like I'm Ant Mason

Black Soprano family with the leverages impeccable

You rappers is unethical, turn **** to vegetables

Matter fact, **** shoot yourself with it, Plaxico

Shells hotter than Mexico, feel it on your chest like stethoscope

I love the game, I'm from the streets

I survived some murder beef, ever since then, I play for keeps

I'm shooting everywhere the laser blinks

Drums on the .223, shutting down the motor on the V

So be careful riding down them streets

And, ****, bring your biggest gun when you think of running down on me

I'm with some **** that'd die for me

You gotta look me in the eyes when you tell me you gon' ride for me

It's time to tell my side of the story

A **** came off the bench but I got rings like Robert Horry

I made movies but ain't record it

Spray thirty-something shells, clear the scene before it get reported

Moving cautious, I can't afford it

Raised by them real trenches, catch a body and you get rewarded (Killers ****)

Pushing grams, tryna make a fortune

Had a couple bad runs like the Bills when they had Losman

I need the Rollie with the bezel frosted

Having triple beam dreams, reminiscing when I sold frosting

Me and my opps like LA and Boston

I thought of that one on the plane on a flight from LA to Boston

Sipping D'USSÉ with the double-crossers

The way we do, you think it's voodoo so be careful 'fore you double-cross us

You run your mouth, my gun's talking

Place a bounty on your head, now you just a dead man walking

Look, they told me I'm playing with fire 'cause I ain't throw my phone away yet

I'm in deep, the hustler instinct ain't go away yet

I kept a hammer in a bubble coat on the east side of Buffalo

The 40 made me trigger happy, my plug made me comfortable

Hit the lot and I'm coppin', ain't nothing to guess 'bout this shit

I don't even know the price or need to test-drive the whip

When you was stressed 'bout a bitch, my team was fresh outta brick

Coppin' in Miami at the Best West by The Strip

Your bitch hit my phone and she don't want nothing specific

Hoes know I'm ballin' like the US in the Summer Olympics

I played The Strip till the mail came in, Chanel fragrance, Hell-raisin'

****, my hood full of shell casings from twelve gauges

Let's see who really rivals, if your city really follow

I'm in the lab writing, ashin' in an empty Henny bottle

I had a spot in all hoods, had my pockets all full

Till rap made me more political like Pac before Suge

This flow got me enemies, I don't speak to half y'all (Fuck y'all ****)

I got weaker rap squads doing features half-off

No cops when I hit the scene, popped up with Rick and Heem

Mask, no vest, just a mop like Mr Clean

(These are the real Sopranos)

Big BSF ****

All my **** is capos, ****

We take this Black Soprano shit serious, real shit

Shout out my ****, Cityboy

My ****, Rick Hyde, Heem

Produced by Shay, you a fool, ****, ah

2020 mine, ****

Big BSF, big Griselda in this motherfucker

I had to come clean **** up, ah