Termanology, Snowgoons, Nut Rageous, Tribeca - The Ill Bunch lyrics

You have not seen the scenery
Don't know what it's like to beef with me
See the heathens speak easily on easy street
Yeah, they living like they villains but
Our children need a meal
On the block clocking but that
Type of time will kill
(yeah, tell em why you mad homie
Tell em how you feel)
You bet you right, damn sure I will
When I got my deal, life was looking up
Now I could give a fuck
'cause them record labels steal
Still we struggle to live on with
My kid to my arms
I uplift the strong, the hood on my back
My missus on my lap and still I react
I've been dodging the traps
Yes, rap was born where I'm from
God praised me as a son so
I rep till I'm done

We roll on niggas like a bunch of I'l Greeks
With heats and keep these streets
Hot like we freed Lhus
We born together like some sheiks
From the middle east
All they get is one damn
Nation yelling out fuck peace

Yo, late night bodega run
I ran into my little dun
Sitting there looking through the barrel
Of a devil's gun
He talking about a body that he
Caught and he on the run
Out of state trying to get
That extra cake major fun
Who I am to tell him? I'm a felon
Just came home from packing a pack
In the back and drug selling
Shortie rebelling, man he just like me
I remember when I was
Sixteen hugging the streets
I had the OG's trying to screw me
I walked away like fuck you
I'm Nutso and flashed the toolie
Half my niggas doing life or smoking boolies
Shorty when you're looking at the
Mirror looking at me
But my advice to this little nigga
You gotta take flight
Relocate from the hood and start a new life

I'm sick of liars
Sick of bitches and sick of friends
I'm sick of him and I'm sick of
Sitting here like get it in
I'm sick of fakers, law makers
And life takers
That just throw you away then
Go and eat pizza laugh about it
It's getting crowded up in the game
Too many bout it bout it but
Really ain't bout a thing
Too many make it rain in
Their songs but the thing
Is in real life you won't
See them throwing a thing
Except a fit, rappers with bitch tendencies
Been through the seven seas, Jim Beam
Tennessee
You call it whiskey, me I call it risky
Police frisk me hitting me
With the metal things
Like it's no rules, hit the ProTools
And burn it down with my
Peeps from the Snowgoons