Ransom, Rome Streetz - Sage or Gunsmoke lyrics
Rome Streetz [Jerome Allen] London, U.K./Queens, NY, US 🇬🇧 🇺🇸
[Ransom, Rome Streetz - Sage or Gunsmoke lyrics]
Really ain't no comp' in this shit
These niggas miniature
Miniscule, murder when the god
Pen the literature now everything lit
The scripture bringin' expenditure
Fuck a fraction of the fortune
I need the integer
Ladies got no love for a loser
They let the winner fuck
Only money makin' maneuvers
I'm out to get a buck
Words weighed in my shoulder
Like Lex Luger finisher
But I feel no pressure at all
Look how I lift it up
No square bids for the cash
I had to tour for work
I heard your new shit trash
You're getting worse and worse
Jehovah witness me bad
Sinnin' in front of church tie him up
Throw his ass in the back of the hearse
Knock your head off every time
That I rap a verse
I leveled up, you wanna work, pay double
Yeah my rap is like graffiti
In a subway tunnel
Ghetto art depictin' thugs
You know the drugs they juggle
From where haters were disguisin'
Tryna front they love you
Look you eye to eye
Then they backstab when they hug you
That shit cutthroat, what can protect you
Sage or gunsmoke? Torah or the TEC
Let it off if they offer disrespect
Not much of a talker, I'm at your neck
What you expect from a fly New
Yorker, I'm 'bout a check, nigga
Yeah, I'm gon' die in these trenches
I'm from a different time
My auntie got high on these benches
She loved to sniff a line and
Then look to God for repentence
My bars in your mentions
I don't need to go hard for attention
I'm scarred with the tension
My brain is a Harvard invention
Dissected and looked upon as
A diamond in presence
The don with a vengeance
Sent your soul to a dark dimension
Sent right to the gates of hell
Procrastinate and get robbed by the entrance
Hand to hands go wrong in a dark alley
Cold carry
Palmin' an arm longer than John Salley's
Wrong addy, bullets ain't got direction
You're gone sadly ridin' shotgun
Get you blown in your mom backseat
Most of y'all wasn't here for the crack era
Crack mirrors tryna cover a
Blemish in mascara that's terror
Tongue is a razerblade in a track severed
Wack never
Grim Reaper in the street in a black leather
Rap clever, took the time out for nothing
That's Webber track weather, hurricanes
Tornadoes and bad tremors glass measures
Pyrex cook with a dirty burner
Thirty murders, death is never too
Late, I'm an early learner, nigga
These niggas miniature
Miniscule, murder when the god
Pen the literature now everything lit
The scripture bringin' expenditure
Fuck a fraction of the fortune
I need the integer
Ladies got no love for a loser
They let the winner fuck
Only money makin' maneuvers
I'm out to get a buck
Words weighed in my shoulder
Like Lex Luger finisher
But I feel no pressure at all
Look how I lift it up
No square bids for the cash
I had to tour for work
I heard your new shit trash
You're getting worse and worse
Jehovah witness me bad
Sinnin' in front of church tie him up
Throw his ass in the back of the hearse
Knock your head off every time
That I rap a verse
I leveled up, you wanna work, pay double
Yeah my rap is like graffiti
In a subway tunnel
Ghetto art depictin' thugs
You know the drugs they juggle
From where haters were disguisin'
Tryna front they love you
Look you eye to eye
Then they backstab when they hug you
That shit cutthroat, what can protect you
Sage or gunsmoke? Torah or the TEC
Let it off if they offer disrespect
Not much of a talker, I'm at your neck
What you expect from a fly New
Yorker, I'm 'bout a check, nigga
Yeah, I'm gon' die in these trenches
I'm from a different time
My auntie got high on these benches
She loved to sniff a line and
Then look to God for repentence
My bars in your mentions
I don't need to go hard for attention
I'm scarred with the tension
My brain is a Harvard invention
Dissected and looked upon as
A diamond in presence
The don with a vengeance
Sent your soul to a dark dimension
Sent right to the gates of hell
Procrastinate and get robbed by the entrance
Hand to hands go wrong in a dark alley
Cold carry
Palmin' an arm longer than John Salley's
Wrong addy, bullets ain't got direction
You're gone sadly ridin' shotgun
Get you blown in your mom backseat
Most of y'all wasn't here for the crack era
Crack mirrors tryna cover a
Blemish in mascara that's terror
Tongue is a razerblade in a track severed
Wack never
Grim Reaper in the street in a black leather
Rap clever, took the time out for nothing
That's Webber track weather, hurricanes
Tornadoes and bad tremors glass measures
Pyrex cook with a dirty burner
Thirty murders, death is never too
Late, I'm an early learner, nigga