Meek Mill, DJ Difference - Boss Freestyle lyrics
Meek Mill [Robert Rihmeek Williams] Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Meek Mill, DJ Difference - Boss Freestyle lyrics]
Free my nigga lil bH
I fell in love with the streets
Yeah I was 16 (youngin)
Grinding like Clipse, tryna get cream
(let’s get it) a little nigga in the field
Was doing big things
Big hammers, big work, and had a big team
It was popping round the time
We had it in green yeah we was dirty
Narcs tryna sweep the strip clean
Plus we had that white girl, you know
That Christine
Aculera, that should dare her
Make a rich fiend go broke tryna fix dreams
Watching niggas cook the coke it
Looked like whipped cream
And I was tryna get cake (I was hungry)
My old head would tell me just wait
But I was crooked, tryna get straight
The hundreds with the big face
The money made me feel great
Like Tony the Tiger, when he get flakes
Talking the frosted ones
My heart was so cold had to defrost my lungs
Getting high
Was paranoid and going hard with guns
Ready to squeeze on any nigga with ease
Nightmares of being murdered I believed
How the judge gon blame me
Cause when them niggas come to kill
Me nobody gon save me
Label me a felon ‘fore you
Label me as telling
Upstate jail and tuna soup and getting melon
Tell em
Was raining yesterday but now it’s hailing
It’s death up in the air, you can smell it
Man they got the reaper round the
Corner tryna catch a body
The hungry youngins up the street
They tryna catch somebody
Slipping, they got their smith and
They gon stretch some bodies
If they don’t get paid
Somebody gon get sprayed
And one love to my niggas in the twist cage
No commissary chow without the lid tray
Guard spit in it
But you can feel your rib cage
Touch it so you’re like fuck
I got to live today
You niggas fucking with them hoes
I’m fucking with them Benjis
I be cutting up them O’s
Fucking with that stove
That shit you made last week
I fucked it up on clothes
Spend half of that on Prada and
The other half on dros
Woah! (woah Meek Milly)
I said nigga do you, Imma do me
That haze it got him in the zone like a 23
Them niggas need a smoke, we got that oohwee
Purp by the pound, ounces of the sour D
We 32’d the Glizzy’s, compact to max
Sliding through they hood, tinted down
Back to back looking for these pussys
Now where these faggots at skis, dickies
And hoodies show where they trapping at
Murder murder graveyard
Funeral service for em
Embalming fluid, obituary and hearses for em
That choppa do him
His mama mourning and hurting for him
We collect bosses, they flunkies
Whoever working for em
Yeah, Meek motherfucking Milly
You niggas know what it is
BH we straight to the motherfucking
Day that I die nigga free my nigga lil
GT franchise we got the
Game on motherfucking lock
And if you think you fucking with me nigga
Hit that stu' hard
And get your fucking game right
Plain and simple boss
I fell in love with the streets
Yeah I was 16 (youngin)
Grinding like Clipse, tryna get cream
(let’s get it) a little nigga in the field
Was doing big things
Big hammers, big work, and had a big team
It was popping round the time
We had it in green yeah we was dirty
Narcs tryna sweep the strip clean
Plus we had that white girl, you know
That Christine
Aculera, that should dare her
Make a rich fiend go broke tryna fix dreams
Watching niggas cook the coke it
Looked like whipped cream
And I was tryna get cake (I was hungry)
My old head would tell me just wait
But I was crooked, tryna get straight
The hundreds with the big face
The money made me feel great
Like Tony the Tiger, when he get flakes
Talking the frosted ones
My heart was so cold had to defrost my lungs
Getting high
Was paranoid and going hard with guns
Ready to squeeze on any nigga with ease
Nightmares of being murdered I believed
How the judge gon blame me
Cause when them niggas come to kill
Me nobody gon save me
Label me a felon ‘fore you
Label me as telling
Upstate jail and tuna soup and getting melon
Tell em
Was raining yesterday but now it’s hailing
It’s death up in the air, you can smell it
Man they got the reaper round the
Corner tryna catch a body
The hungry youngins up the street
They tryna catch somebody
Slipping, they got their smith and
They gon stretch some bodies
If they don’t get paid
Somebody gon get sprayed
And one love to my niggas in the twist cage
No commissary chow without the lid tray
Guard spit in it
But you can feel your rib cage
Touch it so you’re like fuck
I got to live today
You niggas fucking with them hoes
I’m fucking with them Benjis
I be cutting up them O’s
Fucking with that stove
That shit you made last week
I fucked it up on clothes
Spend half of that on Prada and
The other half on dros
Woah! (woah Meek Milly)
I said nigga do you, Imma do me
That haze it got him in the zone like a 23
Them niggas need a smoke, we got that oohwee
Purp by the pound, ounces of the sour D
We 32’d the Glizzy’s, compact to max
Sliding through they hood, tinted down
Back to back looking for these pussys
Now where these faggots at skis, dickies
And hoodies show where they trapping at
Murder murder graveyard
Funeral service for em
Embalming fluid, obituary and hearses for em
That choppa do him
His mama mourning and hurting for him
We collect bosses, they flunkies
Whoever working for em
Yeah, Meek motherfucking Milly
You niggas know what it is
BH we straight to the motherfucking
Day that I die nigga free my nigga lil
GT franchise we got the
Game on motherfucking lock
And if you think you fucking with me nigga
Hit that stu' hard
And get your fucking game right
Plain and simple boss