Where Brooklyn At - 812 | Текст песни

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• Where Brooklyn At
• 812

I got seven Mack 11's, about eight 38's
Nine 9's, ten mack tens, the shits never ends
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches
Biggie Smalls; the millionare, the mansion, the yacht
The two weed spots, the two hot glocks
That's how I got the weed spot
I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread
Little Gotti got the shotty to your body
So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas
I tote guns, I make number runs
I give mc's the runs drippin
when I throw my clip in the AK, I slay from far away
Everybody hit the D-E-C-K
My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Matteo
Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffed the yeyo
That's crazy blunts, mad L's
My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells
Oh my God, I'm droppin shit like a pigeon
I hope you're listenin, smackin babies at they christening

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