Rivi

(álbum: Butcher On Steroids - 2017)

Uhh, this that Butcher shit, nigga
This that Griselda shit
This that Daringer shit, nigga
Yeah, ayo this shit so big, it'll put a hole through you
You, you and the wall, nigga

Yo, look, uhh
I pray for niggas flipping half ounces
One day they reach the point they carrying duffle bags out of stash houses (nigga)
We was cash counters, fast thousands
Had me pulling glass out the pot, the water running like Splash Mountain
I catch a lick, I won't brag 'bout it (nah)
I just show up in a mask with a Mag with bag 'round it (nigga)
Fuck a booth, you could get drag out it
Splashed Clicq' on my last outfit
The Benz off white, the Jag almond (woo!)
Monopoly, I cop the whole board
We rock the [?], bought me a gauge then chop the nose off
Was lock, nobody sent a postcard (fuck 'em)
I'm still a gangsta, I serve food on the table I chop the coke on
I got your bitch rocking slow songs
But we don't fuck, she just suck me off
And come to drop the dope off (I need that)
I play the trap in a snow storm (facts)
With a brick, I made a stack every time they twist the doorknob
They talking bodies, but I doubt if they with it
This that Godfather flow that got Gotti acquitted
Spending money, fucking hotties, it get highly addictive
Lost my gun in a robbery, end up robbing me with it (shit)
I miss the bodies on bodies, so you probably can get it
And catch fragments from the shottie just parleying with 'em
Back home, the streets cold, shit, God is my witness
Niggas even get smoked when they minding they bid'ness, uhh
Tell me why it's normal when blood spill in the streets? (why?)
Smirk on my face while the judge sentencin me
I remember when they kept drug dealing discreet ('member that?)
Now it's like, you can buy drugs and get receipts
I'd face a RICO charge if these walls was talking (damn)
We cooked hard up to soft from a small apartment (word)
I seen it all, swear to God them halls still haunt me
I heard my brother got cut in the yard in Marcy
I'm feeling guilty, cause maybe I misled him (sorry)
Is it fate? Every son my mom raised turned out a felon (facts)
They tell us stay in school, but nah, that don't pay electric
It's funny how we say we trap just to make an exit
That's how you think when you hustling, another hustler still vouching for me
They ain't forget, them niggas bought they first ounces from me
Yeah, whoa, I went and got a lawyer
My lawyer hired a lawyer and that one got an accountant for me
I'm stacking boxes like UPS, a fan on the barrel to cool the TEC
I play the field just like Mookie Betts
She never call she only shoot me text
I fuck her once a week, but to me, that's Romeo and Juliet
The arm the Rollie on, I use it best
Whip a zip to a 44, the dope is raw is usually stretched
Y'all be trying to gas me, I'm too cocky 'round these rappers (yeah)
With the Buffalo gang unit got me down as active, motherfucker