Street Chains (Bonus Track)

(albüm: Free Weezy Album - 2015)

Straight from the East side
Blood gang, we heavy
Fuck nigga, dare me
I turn into Freddy
My fingers machetes
Trap house jumping like Monta Ellis
We trap out the 'telly when we outta town
Uzi on deck
Phone ringing off the hook, bitch, that's the plug
Ocean view bedroom, baby
See through showers and I just put some fish in my tub
Hold up, I ain't playing
Niggas say they rich, I say "And?"
Same old song, I ain't dance
Heater on my waist, hotter than a frying pan
If you don't see what I'm saying
I give your ass a fucking eye exam
I ain't playing
Guns in my hands, I ain't praying
Fireman spitting venom, Spiderman, I'm enhanced
I'm at peace, jogging pants cost at least about a grand
I'm advanced like Japan
Got more sand than Sudan, Lord

And life ain't nothing but a long day
And tomorrow ain't nothing but a long way away
You know that haters come in all sizes, all shapes, 'kay
That's why I had to get a little more trunk space
Got insurance on the trap house, Allstate
Got the trap house pumping like a heart rate
Got the trap house pumping like a 808
Boom, like a 808

I could fly around that bitch, need a tarmac
I just landed in Cuba, need a straw hat
I gotta get the raw back, I need a format
I put the shit on horseback and start my own ranch
From where they don't talk smack, they just snort smack
I'll turn your head to an open hot sauce pack
I tell the bitch some true lies and some false facts
Boy, I'm drowning in the syrup like a short stack
Ooh, 187, 211
Hockey mask on, Wayne Gretzky
Stunt my ass off, chain heavy
Your bitch get passed on, chain letter
Train smoker, smoke plain, never
Had a date with the Devil
Then I changed schedules
I'm a trained killer
Like a paid killer
Better yet, Saddam Hussein nephew
Nigga, no love
That's from the bottom of my heart
I pull up and paint your whole fucking block red
Then get out of my car and admire my art
Then smile at my thoughts
My bitch from Atlanta got eyes like a hawk
She see why I'm a boss
I just got another speeding ticket on the Bugatti
While it was parked
Now I don't wan' talk, bitch, I don't wan' talk
Lean in my punch, I decided to spar
Anybody want war?
I'm excited to start
Get indicted tomorrow
I be out by the morn
Before I even yawn
Stay in ya lane, I remind these lil' boys
This is victory lane, now do I need a horn?
The struggle is real, and the Bible too long
I'm writing my will, and I'm typing my won'ts
Lord, please
Kilos, OZ's
'Cause my bitch high class, she like Pinot and cheese
I dropped out of class so I'm zero degrees
I can out-think a shrink, she can deep throat a tree
I can hijack a Brinks, so my sweet soda pink
I'm a freak show to freaks
I'm spitting these bars, hope my bar tab is cheap
I'm a hard man to reach
I'm newborn and deceased
I'm too hard for this beat
I'm the heart and the beat
The Chong and the Cheech
My blunt long as a speech
Roach look like a leech
I'm too long for the brief
I'm too wrong for the priest
With this chrome on your teeth
That get blown out your cheek
Like my bitch mixed, like Long Island Tea
She don't hide her figure, she don't hide her feet
I'm the head nigga, like Prodigy
And bitch, I'ma shine, like Connery
Yeah

And life ain't nothing but a long day
Tomorrow ain't nothing but a long way, away