Lyrics
For good, I’m misunderstood, hood, up to no good
At least that’s how they perceive me, please believe me Dog… shit, I can be greasy
I walk in a store, they follow, watch me weave me Is it because I’m latin? And statistics show
Nine out of ten be carrying, shit, my preference is the gatling
I was raised in Staten, twenty minutes from Manhattan
With pigs, drug dealers and the folks thats ratting
I established my young life of crime, jail time, shit
I don’t wanna brag or nothing, but yea, niggas know me
I’ve never been a douja, only the boss or the co-d
Shit, I take it back to an O.E., I’m not that old
But considered an O.G., you fronted when I was broke, don’t like you know me…
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up
I think I’m gon' make 'em hang it up Yo, Dom P. I come through and won’t beg my pardon
My ego’s like, I’m starring in the Garden
My hustle’s like, I hustle Newport by the carton
I’m starving, but I’m not fiending, dreaming but I’m not wishing
I spent years in Hell’s Kitchen…
I got a reason I can bitch, but I’m not a bitch
I got a story I can tell you, but I’m not a snitch
Had a hot bitch, shit, I got a hot bitch
Let me stop talking shit, cuz when I talk shit I walk shit
It’s usually in the dark, on the graveyard shift
Kid, that’s when I smoke my late night spliff
The fiends they keep coming, the D’s, they keep coming
Try and, get out the game, but the green keep coming
See me and it mean something, with a slug muffin, puffing something
Greener, than a swan thing, and when I come through
They comp me, move nonchalantly, valet, niggas park me Now fix ya silly fucking neck…
Start acting. yo… knowhatimean, just fucking do it…