Black Inca

(álbum: Active - 2018)

Dying over pigeons
Tryna get fly
I'm riding, is you with it?
Don't ask a nigga why
Tired of the praying and the wishing
Indictments in my kitchen
Whipping up my vision
Lord, let me get mine

Few hitters owe me favors
Finna make you famous
Pull up on you whipping
Empty clips up out the chamber
Knocking pictures off the wall
And waking up the neighbors
Run off with the work
You getting hurt, can't nothing save ya
Cutting off my conscience
Getting on some Dom shit
Orchestrate the hit
And get to grinning on some calm shit
Heard what happened, aw shit
Play it cool, guitar shit
Pop me a motherfucker
Ain't talking no bomb shit
Die tryna have that
Crib with the rider
Side buddy died in the backyard of the hideout
Heard they brought a black AR with the died out
Told me they ain't care
They gon' have the whole crowd out

Dying over pigeons
Tryna get fly
I'm riding, is you with it?
Don't ask a nigga why
Tired of the praying and the wishing
Indictments in my kitchen
Whipping up my vision
Lord, let me get mine

Reporting live from the trenches
Swinging for the fences
Scheming on revenges
On some old friendses
Penitentiary chances
High paid defenses
This how I escape convictions
I'm whipping up my vision
Bully beef and ganja
Now I'm pulling forms up
Riding with the doors up
Pour the pint, dozing
Lucky now I'm chosen
Pena got murdered
Mama never got closure
But that's the way I goes

Still jerking blooker
Crucial with the cooker
Floating in the ghost
Throwing deuces out the window
Six phones, speak in codes
Plug say comprendo
Touching down, chopping
They like buttons on Nintendo

Dying over pigeons
Tryna get fly
I'm riding, is you with it?
Don't ask a nigga why
Tired of the praying and the wishing
Indictments in my kitchen
Whipping up my vision
Lord, let me get mine