Rick Ross, Trae Tha Truth, Lloyd, The Game - I Am The Streets lyrics

Riding in a cab but I'm dreaming of a slab
Cooking ounces at a time
Pussy nigga do the math
Ten ice chains, Prince like James
The day I made a stack in the trap
My life changed
Y'all ride swangers, we ride Daytons
It don't matter where you from
Haters stay hating keep the window tinted
Artillery when I'm in it
Whip it in the kitchen before
Hillary became a Clinton
Assholes by nature, cash flow was major
In the old school, or M codes and fragers
Started with a crumb
But turned it to a brick
They were calling me a bum, my turn
I'm the shit
Razor flipped thing, age of fifteen
Got Chevy in that thing
Blades like Chris Creams rose on the wrist
When the shows ain't exist
Now my money long enough to put
The fours on a six boss

From the depths of the sea to
The stars in the sky
I'ma be a hustler till I die
Sixty in the clip in case enough pride
But all them haters want to try
So shorty what you smoking on?
Marijuana's what I'm choking on
I don't care if they call me crazy
But street niggas getting mullah baby

I'm still located in the gutter
Fresh set of fours
Watching haters foreign, chopper on the floor
Pillowcases full of money
Still ain't got no place to go
So I evacuate the safe
Hit the hood and let it blow
You thinking I ain't the king of my section
Nigga you way off
My hustle make the ghetto amazing
Like it's the playoffs
In the hood for real
These corners I never stay off picture that
I remember of having visions of getting paid
Now I sit in on something suede
Or in something that's getting sprayed
I'm in that field with the
Trap around the third eye
This the National Hood Geographics
Call it bird watching
I'm this jungle rocking cinematic stones
Interstate, but the bread talking
Money so long pussy niggas mad because I'm
Getting my money on
Who else you know got out the hood
And put half the city on?

From the depths of the sea to
The stars in the sky
I'ma be a hustler till I die
Sixty in the clip in case enough pride
But all them haters want to try
So shorty what you smoking on?
Marijuana's what I'm choking on
I don't care if they call me crazy
But street niggas getting mullah baby

My name Young Lloyd
Yeah you know what I'm on
Many girls are laid in my Styrofoam
And I'm in the H Town, so don't play around
Or my nigga Trae tha Truth
Going to lay you down
Rick Ross be the boss in the Phantom and all
Got round the clock rocks, spring, winter
And fall some of y'all might call me crazy
But street niggas getting mullah baby

I'm a natural born asshole, is you? yeah
Why? Because it's do or die when
Them choppers in the air
I see clear as Belvedere
You haters know this my year
Paid no attention to y'all
I'm still thinking about Shakur
Having suicidal thoughts in this Phantom
It's a bitch ain't it?
Paid a half a million for this motherfucker
Then paint it
Chinchilla floor mats, that's beyond paper
Me and Trae flying through
Houston like Von Wafer
You niggas ain't balling, you T-Mack
You stay hurt i order more Pequa
Got more rocks than a Jay verse
I used to sell pounds, watch 'Mash'
And weigh work
Got shot and woke up out a coma
Could've been way worse
But now I'm living for my niggas
Locked deep down in the prison hole
With no vision
When I drop the top, I do it for you
So close your eyes and let
The sun shine through yeah

From the depths of the sea to
The stars in the sky
I'ma be a hustler till I die
Sixty in the clip in case enough pride
But all them haters want to try
So shorty what you smoking on?
Marijuana's what I'm choking on
I don't care if they call me crazy
But street niggas getting mullah baby