Verse 1 In the streets we spit venom, Out here hues is blues like a dope dealer's bitch in fit denom. No shooting stars Some crews go for coup d'État Or shoot at cars with ten niggas in 'em. For no reason, In the the hood you would think there's no seasons, Cause every fucking day is below freezin'. Where body's hold lesions, And I suppose you'd have a cold heart, If you pushed snow throughout the whole region. Women buy nylon, Men fight with men with a tire iron, Others spit fire like Dylan. Knives put a scar on, 911 niggas dial on, Junkies sky high like the eye of Sauron. And on the block niggas fire at cops, While others carry rocks, In their high ass socks. No Nasdaq's, niggas buy that stock, If you can find ways to invest in Pyrex pots. Shots!
Verse 2 Fiends carry blow like the breeze, In the streets though the cops yell freeze, Before they squeeze in your clothes like Febreze. Hoes like to tease, Some carry a mold-like disease, That shit'll put holes in your cheese. A chill in the air, As soon as you think they still care, They kill a man in a wheelchair. Fuck a million a year, When a poor man eats a meal a day yo, That nigga feels like a millionaire. Shots hit buildings, Niggas fire shots through the ceiling, Of a man who's got six children. I try to diagnose it, No God here most die agnostic, These motherfuckers got sick feelings. And I don't mean cavities In this melting pot crabs grabbing me, Pulled down by man and gravity. Cry to block the savagery, They say that some still live lavishly, I feel the cold steel stabbing me.