Sporty Thievz - Street Cinema 2 lyrics

Sporty Thievs, Pete Rock shit chill cousin
Rock-a-block shot callers

We in the outlets buyin'
Outfit's with the counterfeit's
And we get down south with it
Nigga your powder got no power
It's 30% flour
Plus you a coward who drink amaretto sours
Jump out the shower Brando
Throw on the 'Burbs
With the fur see my nigga on
The curb I'm like "errrr!"
The D's can't make out a face on the stakeout
Not mine's
The face on the dough and the cake out
Plus my jewelry got the police hatin'
Takin' Bran to the station, cuz he got bacon
Got the bats in the car
Clothes match in the car
With some hydro mixed with hash in the jar
There be ass at the bar
So I flash at the bar
Leave with a bitch and have ass for tomorrow
Yo the Beamer with the
License plate from Antigua
Be on the low like a
Gun in your son's speaker

Street cinema
Ya'll forgot the cinema was street
Saw me with a freak and
Thought the cinema was sweet
Big niggas eat while real players chic
And deceased underneath don't fuck
With a thief

My flow's a threat
Have you wake up pettin' a cold sweat
Ya'll niggas couldn't hang like a
Slave with no neck
Mic check, taste the liquor, Kirk's sicker
The nigga's lookin' at they
Sister's naked picture
Watchin' Hitler, laughin'
Drunk poppin' asprin
When this track's in make sure
Your seat belt's fastened
Kirk's like thug passion, have you crashin'
Crowd clappin', your go, no reaction
Cat's talk shit? I don't even respond 'em
Just slide one in they girl
And autograph the condom
When the time come you find some periodic
King got it, ya'll cats sound idiotic
Vocals flow like a boat cruise
If I was two dudes and we battled
We'd both lose
Styles wild like a monkey drunk
If I fell I bounce back like
Humpty Dump on a bungee jump

I don't have time for punishin'
Niggas who wanna battle
Get ate then they man tell 'em
"what the fuck you rhyme for?"
That's what a rhyme for
Nothin' lesser from afar
All you saw was saliva and hand gestures
Hail rap's Medusa, I turn you statue
Speechless with your own block
Laughin' at you then merk with your loca
I'm promisin' her the coast-a
Just to make love to her boca
Then send her on down with
Coca in her throat-a
No soda, makin' that broad boba
And all I got was blown by her
Now she wanna hang around like
Old kicks on telephone wire
My thing ain't complete without a
Beat from Pete haaa
We got this run along and beat your meat
I'm with hoes and comos on
A private flight nigga
Thanks for comin' out god
Bless goodnight nigga