OG Kid Frost, Jay Tee (Rapper), Philly Blunt, Baby Bash - Milk and Honey lyrics

Yeah ha ha
Frost (Frost) jay Tee (Jay Tee)
Baby Beesh (Baby Beesh)
Philly Blunt (Philly Blunt) yeah inhale
It's for all them players exhale hustlers
Ballers and thugsters

As a youngster, I never knew nada
Smoking on cheeba
And workin' on my pop's old school Impala
Not a scholar
Even though I should of hit the books
Heart of a savage stone crook
With a gangsta look on my face
All about the paper chase
I was laced as a teen with a triple beam
Trump tight i gambled all day and night
Pitbull, cock fights and shootin' dice
I had to hustle til I pulled
A muscle out my body
Looked up to Tony Montana and John Gotti
As times changed
Bigg Frost had to move with 'em
Big bread, bad bitches
I had to groove with 'em
Six suit's, well dressed and now I press
CDs for them locos and them little G's
And if you locked in the
Struggle when you feelin' this
Get your grind on, dawg, all I'm sayin' is

Hustlin' ballers
Keep on makin' money players
Shotcallers get your milk and honey

In the game, tryin' to win it represent it
Squattin' tough windows tinted
With two HK's I just rented i'm all up in it
Nathin' but riders roll around with me
They sell a pound with me
Even break it down with me (Ya know)
I heavy hustle
For everything I'm earnin' (Earnin')
It ain't no refunds
There's no return to keep my tires burnin'
I hit the gas, break a yolk with ya
But, I can't smoke with ya
I ain't goin' broke with ya i be's a grinder
Never get behind the punk police (Fuck 'em)
Cause man, they might find her
What I been makin', there's no mistakin'
I got the fiends shakin'
It's big bread that they breakin'
(That's right)
I took a ten, turned it into twenty
(Into twenty) stay out the pen and started
Stackin' plenty down for me gente (Gente)
So holla if you feel me (If you feel me)
Player Jay Tee, yo man
I'm in this til they kill me

Well now, there's twenty-eight grams in a
Zip of cocaine
So player, don't trip, if I grip
The whole thang and flip it once (What)
And flip it once (Oooh)
I split the blunts (What)
I shoot the dices (yeah)
Now I can holla on the dollar
When it come to scrill and can you feel
See seven, nine to ten players ain't real
They wanna ride
But they slippin' like a transmission
Squares got the rules missin' (Squares)
Now why they bullshittin'
Mob shit, player (Mob shit)
That's what I does (I smoke)
Two phat bacons and I'm half way buzzed
I sport Lugz and Jordans
See I'm affordin' cause my money's long
And one love to my folks
Who got the hustle on
Range Rove's sportin' super bad Kangols
Since '89, stackin' paper, never save hoes
Some don't understand how I pop my P's
I throw it up
To them players if you stack your cheese