Walkie Talkies

(album: Bales - 2013)

[Curren$y:]
Uh, colder than the airport
Music hustling, ducking the rap task force
Man, I'm just tryna cop my man's a Porsche
Writing these drugs until my hand get sore
Maneuvering, Cuban links, 24 karats
Who did you think was coming to dinner, it wasn't apparent?
Your nigga Spitta, smelling like a pound of that killa
Open the window, these suckers lungs too tender
Homes I been in it, for more than a minute
Fathering styles, lot of the niggas is just my littles
I'm a stop, with one button stunting dissolve the top
Open air, in something rare

[Young Roddy:]
Them niggas got blood stains all on the dollar bill
But they don't care, they rinse it off 'til ain't nothing there
Had to keep my kicks clean, may not get another pair
Shit hard, where the fuck I'm coming from they play it raw
My God, I'm tired; I've been running from the law
Even running up the cars, they want me dead behind bars, no sir
Momma got another gig, moved on her own turf
Only fist fights around that time, nobody got murked
Until they started playing with bangers
Nobody got caught until they started pointing fingers
Sinking, ain't that a bitch
I stay fatigued down on some battle shit
I never tell, I ain't on no Donnie Brasco shit
I'm on Sosa, this life made me a soldier
I'm no Tony, I never turn on my homie, boy
This ain't no country for the wack and the phony boy
This shit could get wicked in this New Jet City nigga