Benny the Butcher - Camellia's lyrics

Yeah, yeah the Butcher comin', nigga
Griselda we the realest niggas y'all seen
In a long time (Griselda)

Ever since Griselda
These niggas been as dead as Elvis
Fuck the world, I'm selfish
Just thoughts that I came from jail with
The pot was gone, the kitchen was dirty
The jar was Hellmann's it's karma
Walk my plug for the work that
I caught a cell with (damn)
When I'm back home, I'm fuckin' with killers
Fluffin' up chickens
I pull up to them niggas with
Them stuffed in a Fender
On the West coast, I'm one of the littest
Outside of Roscoe's smokin' dope by the
Fronto with a couple of bitches
That trap talk not enough to convince us
Your prices way off
Them numbers you mentioned got
You under suspicion
Them poker odds gon' keep me in Vegas
We be with gangstas rockin' different Just
Dons like I keep gettin' traded
Shout out the plug 'cause he
Sent me a package long as I pay him
He gon' throw 'em just
Like Payton in Indianapolis
These pussy niggas know Benny is savage
Sneakin' the ratchet in my
G-star denims, nigga, fendi the jacket
Happened for a reason
Nothin' ain't accidental my dog took a risk
Lost a package from Sacramento
Ratchets in back of rentals
Caskets, candles, vigils, we catch you
When you think you too lavish
To pack a pistol it give hope to the hood to
See a hustler make it (facts)
3 felonies and all of 'em drug related
My shit one of one, they custom made it
24 hour trap, fuck the neighbors
Get a block and suffocate it
A year ago, I was broke to keep it real
Got a few bad batches of dope I couldn't sell
Caught a brick that nobody wanted, I took a L
(damn)
Then I wrote My First Brick, it's a classic
So I excelled (yep)
Turn somethin' tragic right into magic
So I prevailed
My kids happy, and your bitch happy
And I'm not in jail
When you look at it from that perspective
Guess I did well
We street niggas, so my integrity
Not for sale (nah)
When the pies land, everybody buyin' slices
Niggas havin' seeds and buy V's
Instead of buyin' diapers
MAC-11 sprayin' like a fire hydrant
Bullets got your name on 'em
Like a driver's license
I went down for conspiracy as a teen
Niggas lyin' 'bout their past but
Apparently that's a thing
This Glock probably melt from me
Airin' it at your team
And my bitch arm tired
From carryin' that Céline
The Butcher, on Steroids, nigga