Boldy James, Real Bad Man - Street Shit lyrics
[Boldy James, Real Bad Man - Street Shit lyrics]
XO, where we at with it?
Shout out to the Real Bad Man let's get it
Can't even feel my fingertips
The blow done numbed my hands
Ain't even have to leave the city
Sold three hundred grams
Remember packin' up an ounce
Couldn't touch a ten
But now they gotta cut it out
Or even cut me in
At my junkie house, auntie tryna stuff a stem
On the wheel with the twins
And my brother's Schwinn
I sold a brick, was short a O
He didn't wanna spend
They gave my dawg a quarter roll
He took it on the chin they wasn't with me
I was shootin' in that open gym
A nigga really in that field
This ain't no pretend
Took a risk with my life, I just wanna win
Drunk a six out the pint, but I sold a ten
Steady knockin' heads down like
Some bowling pins
Out in St paul with the Minnesota Twins
Could shake a bag in the
City, might hit the road, depends
Had to remix a half-block just to roll a Benz
You never seen a blow syringe
Or a fiend sick? Or seen what a junkie'll do
To get a clean hit?
Before I learned to hit the work
I had a mean wrist
That shit'll turn a good girl
Into a mean bitch bottles and 'caine
Breakin' spliffs like my English
All of my pain tailor-fit from the seamstress
Thought he was illy 'till I
Hit him with the remix
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
I'm at the station, sweatin' bullets
Leavin' Washington
Talkin' Seattle, not DC, know we the mafia
Product of the pavement from
Charlevoix to Stahelin
Hoppin' out the iron maiden down
In Baltimore with Raven aR on the backseat
Got it folded in the blanket
Nigga try stop me from eatin'
We gon' roast him at the banquet
Toastin' to the gangstas
Never spoke or wrote a statement
Streetsweepin' with that Mossberg
Custodian for maintenance
Feds buildin' cases, niggas foldin'
Niggas breakin'
Tripped 'em up like a crossword
They roll 'em in from Adrian
Got in trouble once with the
Coca out in Dayton so he gave his plug up
Down in Boca with the Haitians
No remote location and your
Homie gon' be waitin'
We gon' snatch his little brother up
And throw him in the basement
Hawkin' on Belhaven
Used to post up in them vacants
Put the wrong mix on the
Blow, the shit too strong, got 'em faintin'
You never seen a blow syringe
Or a fiend sick? Or seen what a junkie'll do
To get a clean hit?
Before I learned to hit the work
I had a mean wrist
That shit'll turn a good girl
Into a mean bitch bottles and 'caine
Breakin' spliffs like my English
All of my pain tailor-fit from the seamstress
Thought he was illy 'till I
Hit him with the remix
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
Shout out to the Real Bad Man let's get it
Can't even feel my fingertips
The blow done numbed my hands
Ain't even have to leave the city
Sold three hundred grams
Remember packin' up an ounce
Couldn't touch a ten
But now they gotta cut it out
Or even cut me in
At my junkie house, auntie tryna stuff a stem
On the wheel with the twins
And my brother's Schwinn
I sold a brick, was short a O
He didn't wanna spend
They gave my dawg a quarter roll
He took it on the chin they wasn't with me
I was shootin' in that open gym
A nigga really in that field
This ain't no pretend
Took a risk with my life, I just wanna win
Drunk a six out the pint, but I sold a ten
Steady knockin' heads down like
Some bowling pins
Out in St paul with the Minnesota Twins
Could shake a bag in the
City, might hit the road, depends
Had to remix a half-block just to roll a Benz
You never seen a blow syringe
Or a fiend sick? Or seen what a junkie'll do
To get a clean hit?
Before I learned to hit the work
I had a mean wrist
That shit'll turn a good girl
Into a mean bitch bottles and 'caine
Breakin' spliffs like my English
All of my pain tailor-fit from the seamstress
Thought he was illy 'till I
Hit him with the remix
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
I'm at the station, sweatin' bullets
Leavin' Washington
Talkin' Seattle, not DC, know we the mafia
Product of the pavement from
Charlevoix to Stahelin
Hoppin' out the iron maiden down
In Baltimore with Raven aR on the backseat
Got it folded in the blanket
Nigga try stop me from eatin'
We gon' roast him at the banquet
Toastin' to the gangstas
Never spoke or wrote a statement
Streetsweepin' with that Mossberg
Custodian for maintenance
Feds buildin' cases, niggas foldin'
Niggas breakin'
Tripped 'em up like a crossword
They roll 'em in from Adrian
Got in trouble once with the
Coca out in Dayton so he gave his plug up
Down in Boca with the Haitians
No remote location and your
Homie gon' be waitin'
We gon' snatch his little brother up
And throw him in the basement
Hawkin' on Belhaven
Used to post up in them vacants
Put the wrong mix on the
Blow, the shit too strong, got 'em faintin'
You never seen a blow syringe
Or a fiend sick? Or seen what a junkie'll do
To get a clean hit?
Before I learned to hit the work
I had a mean wrist
That shit'll turn a good girl
Into a mean bitch bottles and 'caine
Breakin' spliffs like my English
All of my pain tailor-fit from the seamstress
Thought he was illy 'till I
Hit him with the remix
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit
That's how I know niggas ain't
Really on no street shit