Three

For my G-pack ****

(Right... right...)

Shooting at cops – ****, what?

(For my G-pack ****...)

Fuck the police

N.Y.P.D. – New York Pricks and Dicks

They can't stop our floss, straight up (For you crackheaded bitches)

For my A.M. **** (For you crackheaded bitches)

My Ante Meridiem **** – what up, dunn?

Liquor store closing (No doubt, no doubt...)

Hit the bootlegger, let's hit the bootlegger

Straight up, yo

Yo dunn, we got guns and the grass, it's 3 at night

I'm about to take the last swallow of the Eases Jesus

Who got 50 on the next tree? We gotta stop at the store

We need D batteries for the theme music

Snatch the biscuits from out the lawn

Fuck a cab, let's take cracked-out Yolanda's Saab

We gave that bitch two wibbles

Then skated off with her vehicle for that pillow

All outside, the borough – dunn, what happened to Queens?

Like Sutphin and 1-2-1, Farmers and 116th

They got us on the BQE, just to get a taste of that greenery

We took our smoke out to Coney Island, posted up by The Himalaya

Pina Colada Champales mixed with Dainy – that's St. Ide's in dunn lingo

Spillin' it on the floor for our dead people

While I spark the sequel

Shit... my **** got lungs

When we smoke, that shit only go around once

Dogs, we just killin' time

Somebody just got they shit twist' on the block, fuckin' up the grind

So, 'til it pipe down

We just going at the sluts – bitch, we wanna fuck right now

Son, I'm on a bench, high, eatin' chicken wings and french fries

A crackhead fuck spent his last bucks on 6 dimes

I'm one gram from big-time, a spliff away from overdosin'

My heart is broken, my man started smokin' again

P, I heard The Tunnel open again

I spoke to Flex, he said he gonna let both of us in

It's time I load up the autos and semis

I wish my **** Spank was in the physical form of life

I got my Uptown Nikes, thugged out and icy

Mad deep, jumpin' out the cocaine white Jeep

Through with strugglin', so I resume hustlin'

Rap game or crack game, my crew is still bubblin'

Yo, 3 in the morning and the D's on the corner still

Seems we were born to kill; yo, P meet me on The Hill

So we could jet through Queens in SUV's

And show these motherfuckers how we rep this thing – ya know?