Cappadonna, Rush, Lil’ Milz - Wu-South lyrics

Yeah street Flavor yeah you know?
Yo, Cap, it's Rush murder one, no love
Call a nigga from North Carolina
That's what it is, New York City
Bolo, what up? Cack lack

I'll break a nigga back
When I'm holding the mack
Me and Cap bridging the gap, on one track
The SINY and the Cack lack
I crack a nigga open like
I'm drinking six packs
It's on and popping in the bottom
Stop a nigga in the mud if he got a problem
It's dirty out here
Walk around with so much ice i need a slay
Wayne Gretzky and they call me
When it sudden death
I feel like Rocky when he ran a hundred steps
That ain't beef, that's pocket
Meat on your chest, boy
I move keys like I'm on the keyboard
Big Rush on the Triton, I got the license
To pay a sniper when I'm writing
On this microphone, I'm Mike Tyson
How Street Fighter niggas call me M bison
I stay high in my blood pressure
The slug'll dead ya
Pack burners that'll give niggas the war
It's real

Nickel plated tech with the
Shiny pearl handle
Red infer' beam on the so-called vandal
Original legit's, still cool like Summer Sam
You got a three hundred watt
With a low key light candle
Burning up the jam, oh, Donna can't cook
You and the dummy hit the head
Oh Donna had you hooked
On the snub nose, because I never dug those
Part time crime, bust me from behind
Niggas that play sometime, most of the time
With the nine, big dummy bullets are blind
So to arm me and protect
You gotta move correct and play humble
As you prepare for the rumble
Then glide like a snake
And let off like the bumble
Two bigger trigger, I figure I got a lotta
One tough, hit the fucked up by Don Dada
I'm my all black self, with the 90 shot clip
Waiting patiently for my posse to flip
So I can wet something love-love
Push come to shove-shove
Might have to wet a nigga
Up with the snub bug
Thirty eight pistol, handle rough like Crisco
Cousin Cappa
Shatter competition like crystal

If, life's a hustle, I grind it out
So I can cop the big face, watch
Diamoned out eyes chinky in the Bentley
Pulling up in the drive way
Like Sinatra, nigga, I did it my way
Repping East side, with guns on each side
Last nigga tried, you know that he died
Who real round here, blue steel round here
Little ears on the block
Get ya peeled round here
I'm the man with the rock
Giving feels round here
If you want it, I can get that
Hit you with a big pack
Don't bring my shit back
Six in your knick knacks don't mean no harm
But I'm shooting with big gats
This and a flip jack'll make
Your ass flip back

Yeah, fuck that, uh huh, walk with me
I'm good with thousand grams
And a well in the will
While you polly in the hood
I'm on Federal Hill
Moving and shaking, underground
Using Jamaicans
Moving these cakes in Montego, shoot up
Ya naked
Get on and beat it, charge money, son
It's large money
Rubberband wrapped under the hard wood floor
Money and I ain't gonna spend a red cent
I'm just sitting on bread
Try'nna get this red shit
I live for them dead presidents
Ever since there was facts, high paids
I was try'nna get paid, nigga
I left 10th grade, for the American dream
Hitting hoods hard with that heroine lean
You only dream about my way of life
Day or night
I'mma get it, just as long as we poor
Fuck the law

Yeah, uh huh, Street Flavor, word up
Yeah, nigga, uh huh, give it
Up or get slumped, nigga
That's how we coming through
Fifty one, thirty six, Bel Air Road, nigga
Street Flavor