Skyzoo, Torae, Livin’ Proof - Albee Square Mall lyrics

Word to the love of a broke chain
That grew up into a Cuban
Linked to a smoke range
We grew up to get into it
Wanted it how they show it
But grew up kind of fast like
Wondering how they load it
Product of the ‘80s, ’95 Navy
The Empire roller ring was out
Here tryna raise me straight up out the K
My friends get at the grip
And the dream was to stick up
The stickers like Matty Rich
Super hero Louie capes
Went they get to the park
And the fiends is tryna cop off benefit cards
From the two parent home
Courtesy of two apartments
But both were the ones with the
Most heart of the heartless
So, therefore, I don’t make music for Fader
I make mine for the guys that
Grew up how I came up
Throw the same answer if you ever
Got and looked at me
Tell ‘em win or lose, baby
Everything is Fulton Street
Yeah, the product of Albee Square Mall, baby
Same era forever, we want it all, baby
"Where Brooklyn at?" - Notorious BIG
Yeah, we been busy running the globe
Might travel round the world but
We always rep home

I’m a product of the borough
Really knew that work
We’ll do that dirt, shoot through your skirt
40 Smith on me, big homie we them hurts
East side all the time, homie, know your turf
I’m Nostrand Ave Coney Island
Out to Williamsburg
And everything in between that nigga
I killed the swerve
Gortex pants sag to show the Fendi belt
Your bitch on me like Livin'
Major in indie wealth
Ha, I know that ignorant shit you like
I’m on that ignorant shit you need
Run through the door with the 4
Like get on your knees
You know what’s up, we came for them keys
Nigga please
These things is gaining murder mileage
Livin' Proof, I'm truth
See I emerged from violence
Smartened up, got aggressive
I had to work my talents and Cooper Projects
(YAOWA) , I know you heard about it

Posted on the corner where my men shoot
Good hoodies, cold sagging over Timb' boots
Gold chain it swang, the whole gang that hang
That click clack and bang
That’s what we into
Hollering at the joints as they walk passed
Tryna bag, yo' shorty got a fat ass
Get the number, hit the camera on
Get to hump her a year later you don’t fuck
With your baby mother
Your baby brother came home from a bid
Right back to selling crack
He can’t get him a gig
Your moms is stressed out
Your pops done left out
And your grandmother get stuck
Raising with your kids
This the life of the borough
Kinda trife but we thorough
Got vices in plural but fuck dying in zero
I'ma get it while I'm breathing
And even by breaking even
I win, just pray God know the reason I sin
And

"Where Brooklyn at?"