Grafh, Benny the Butcher - Blow lyrics

Ay it's a real nigga marathon uh huh
I was in the beam trying
To get them trees sent to Juma
Now I'm in the breeze trying to get
The things sent from Cuba
I probably left the Ruger spin your block
Hit your crew up
Niggas gonna snitch to jewelers
Rats gon' handpick the shooters (Aw man)
I had you going to another way
(What up nigga?) or your homies wiping tears
Off your mother's face
I need a block worth $100K
Or a spot where the money straight so
I could do one a day yeah
I treat this rap shit like the perfect lick
(Perfect lick)
My Griselda deal worth a brick
(Worth a brick)
Pistol on 'em cause he can't work the stack
The streets made us merciless
There's no turning back once
You insert the clip (No turning back)
It's rich or broke, freedom or jail
My man shit, sleep in a cell (Uh, huh)
We let off biscuit's and ballistics
Come clean up the shells
We made choices and had to pay
Lawyers to even the scales
True story, you know the pot was glass
Lots of cash
Took twenty bands to the jeweler
And my watch was half
I make the moves and she count the cash
You heard? It's only right
I got the shoes and she got the bag
They want a feature or they came
To buy dope off us
This where they come and get their stamp
We like the post office
It ain't no gas in the trap
And it ain't no corporate
So we use the microwave to cook
And run the cold water
(Fuck you know about that?)
I only kick it how the hustlers talk
(How the hustlers talk)
And got receipts for shit a hustler bought
(Uh, huh) me?
I really had a brick inside a muscle car
We both got money
Only difference is there's blood on ours

All my niggas know it's street shit
(Street shit)
I'll have my hood blow down the precinct
(Precinct) and these guns ain't for show
(Ain't for show)
Hitters everywhere I go (Everywhere I go)
I'll blow you down, I'll blow you down
I'll blow you down, I'll blow you down mmm
My name Grafh hoe mmm my name Grafh hoe mmm

Are you stupid, my pistol's enormous
My shells could fit on a tortoise
You brought a nickel to the Forbes list
I'm picking up the harvest
Soft weed I lift up a forest
I'm talking in codes
My keys come with a thesaurus
The explodes would fit in a cartridge
Your broad's getting low on her knees
'til she licking the carpet (Freak)
My slippers is in ostrich nigga
My chinchilla's gorilla and shark skin nigga
Hennessy straight I drink dark skin liquor
I put bunk beds in the
Grave and make coffins bigger
My offense shake the dice and
Let a dollar fall
Chip a brick of white into a cotton ball
Dirty sprite and some Tylenol
I t bag your bitch like
I'm spiking a volleyball (Ow)
You trust your life with your body guards
My infrared lights full of body parts
When I snipe then karate starts
Step back, gold chains over the chest tats
I step out of the booth smelling like ExLax
Death math, don't get this coke residue
On your dress slacks
It's hard to breathe with your chest cracked
Neck snapped
Fake gold chains making your neck scratch
This is New York, New York
Like a Yankee vs nets match
Your doctor trying to make different
Parts of your flesh match
I just trapped, F tax, the techs blast
Anybody could get it, the techs blast

All my niggas know it's street shit
My nigga Benny burning down the precinct