Concrete Jungle

(альбом: White Christmas - 2012)

[Intro: Troy Ave]
I just wanna feel the beat
I just wanna feel the beat
Just gotta let it breathe in between there
In this space, don't hear nobody but me

[Hook: Troy Ave]
Truth is, they ain't telling truth about nothing
Ribs don't lie on a man when they touching
I ain't gon' lie, I took hand in destruction
Shots gon' fly at the end of my discussion
I'm tired of being hungry, my bread's starting to crumble
I just wanna ball, all these niggas do is fumble
The weak gon' die and the real gon' rumble
When you living in this concrete jungle, word up

[Verse 1: Pusha T]
I was born in the era of heroin and free base
Crack change, the hustle I seen it reshape
See my type of superhero didn't need capes
I seen the keys of life carried in a briefcase
This shit briefed us, told us where the back road would lead us
Money had us second guessing Jesus
As we pray to false gods at the Caesars
With a fake smile like these black leaders
Kwami killed Pat, top peeled back
A razor in the sun, a nigga still black
Although it's polish on it, my shit is still trap
They try to camouflage it, my phone is still tapped
As it should be
Connect call and I come running
We ran through the river, how we won from it (yuck)
All this damage I done done from it
The best to ever do it, I'm just one from it

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Troy Ave]
Troy Ave, I have surfaced, nigga
I was bored with the wave of these circus niggas
Clown down crown, heat with purpose, nigga
He who dope boy swag ain't on purpose, nigga
County of the kings when she birthed this nigga
Baby I'm ready, let's revert this nigga
Bought a big body Benz off of verses, nigga
I got red bottoms too, mine's from murders, nigga
Hot stepper, pot setter, Pyrexer
I measure, see us test this, my pleasure
Align tresaure, rubber band every rack
Double band every bar 'til it's six laying flat
Give a dap and I'm gone, gat in my palm
Running base, you ain't safe 'til your ass get it home
Major league dealing with this 'cane I pitch
Fucking three-strike laws, come and get this hit

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Troy Ave]
Might as well, real niggas in the building
Block sales, crack cocaine dealings
Word up, back down little bitch
36 on the waist, but holding a four-fifth
I let it go, that's truer than your religion
Hella blow, we moving it with precision
A broke nigga hate I'm cool with that decision
Hit 'em with a mack, they wish it was a collision
You con trucks, you count bucks
Drove out to CT, price went up
Fiends got higher, supplied that fire
Counting the proceeds and my eyes got wider
See, see?
This what I'm talking 'bout
Get money, fuck what these fucked niggas talking 'bout
Truth is they ain't telling truth about nothing
BSB niggas never fronting, for real

[Outro:]
Fuck!
Gotta put some more beat on that, man
I was gon' keep going
We here giving niggas the gospel, that holy feel
Real deal
Fuck!
Light 'em up