Summer In Florida

(álbum: Conversation With A Devil: Cocaine Raps, Vol. 3 - 2003)

What's chrakalackin, nackalackin, nigga watcha packin'?
Now I hate bitches widda passion
High model street fashion
I stay weeded with the beat bashing
Talking shit when I'm smashing
Put ma rap down, profound ina virgin town
Hit the mall like the God, now I'm splurging now
Crack a rhyme, hard crimes in all Five (? barrels?)
It's somthing like Egypt n the Pharo's
Gimme the keys to ya' city, I'm a still pick the lock
And leave hella clues fo da cops
Leave fingerprints on tha' glock
Leave ID on tha' block
Dawg did ya do it? No I did not
Gun powder flour, nigga (?) Towers
I love gummy bears, sweet n sour
Dawg it's tha (?) lyrico, myrical sponge, bitch
Shell toe Adidas n Air Force Ones, bitch
Smelling so cute in ma Sean Jean suit
Filmoe street, nigga bus' duce duce
It's da fellony rhyme n a mellody crime, it's heavy
Ya catch four raps right across ya belly
Ya big homey, in Vegas like Coleeonie
It's all real, nota macaroni sin
Imagine bullets bouncing off ya chin
Fo'eva fucking off your dirty grin, n den, yeeah

1984, I was on da plane dat was about to soar
I was jus fourteen, about to go down n' see my family
Jus when the plane was about to land, I saw dat ma cousin was da man
He gave me da formula, dat was ma summer in Florida

In 1984, I was on da plane dat was about to soar
I was jus 14, about to go down n see ma family
Jus when da plane was about to land, I saw dat ma cousin was da man
He gave me da formula, dat was ma summer in Florida