The Alchemist, Boldy James, Freddie Gibbs - S.N.O.R.T lyrics

'Chemist, Bo Jack gI back to that one-way
Where we at with it? Uhh 227, Blockworks
Let's get it

I'm making short-term goals
Make the work turn pro (yeah)
Started with a diamond in the rough
Just a lump of coal
Snipe a nigga soul, lil' Joseph
He'll up the pole wipe a nigga nose
For his Rol' and them Buffalos
Swiping custos, selling blows
Running through them 'bows
How you loving those? Never told
On none of my bros
I be on the road, ducking patrol
Coming through the toll (yeah)
Tryna keep it low
But Lord knows I need to move this load
Shootin' through the O, on 75
Set the cruise control
It's moving too slow? Give it to Taj
He gon' move it whole (Drug store)
It ain't what you know, it's who you know
Plug toot his nose every time it touch
It put me right back in the Super Bowl
(Back in the game) no, this ain't Kweli
That was Hi Tech in my juice I poured
On my mama stove with a
Pyrex full of sushi roll
I hit it with them ice
Chips and Ramen noodle bowls (Ugh)
It harden up and turn into a block
Looked like the soup was cold

The Los Angeles Firing Squad now must come
Yeah, us original
Sincerely yours, Unfadeable Fred v12s, yeah
Crime lord, it's the twank, yeah

Ayo, VVS's super froze
Coupe ain't got no roof or doors (Nah nah)
My uncle and his partner test my dope
He got a stupid nose and lately
I been curving groupie hoes but
I get stupid chose
'Bout to drop a thousand in my 'Rex
I whip the Super Bowl
Them foreign cars, I'm bored with 'em
'Bout to toss that to Lord and them
Fuck a whip, I need a space coupe
We in Doc drop, in that Delorean (Pyoom)
Michael J fox jumping out the pot
Michael J hops fuck rap, I can shave rocks
These slave-ass rappers can't drop
Rolex say I'm on my eighth watch wait, stop
(yeah) seven-figure nigga still at the store
While my groupie bitches eatin' Domino's
And my Houston hoes getting Pappadeaux's
My Dominicano 'bout to drop a load
I don't trust a soul, so a nigga drove (Rrrr)
Hit the County, I was in the hole
With some Black Stones and some Silent Fours
I'm checked in, vest in
Big bunny rabbit don dada
I remember when I seen a rapper
Do a spot for 1-800-CRIMESTOPPERS
I remember being on the run
Smoking Swisher Sweets up in the Ramada
(yeah) crime lord, on Vice Lord
I'm the underground king, godfather
Nigga, what inaudible
… But we didn’t do it it’s not my calling
It’s all a part of the
Same train of thought process
That’s what I’m saying
And that train of thought is
What helps you get talent

It’s brainwash, bruh forreal

Why so far removed?

From themselves, from they environment
From what’s right the fuck around them
But they’re directly attached to it
Like violently… pssh, what?
And emotionally

Preach that’s what I’m telling you
Jail don’t make you–jail
Don’t rehabilitate you (at all)
It actually makes you more of a criminal

You said it bro, that shit is crime school!
That shit is a crime school