Lounge Lo – Letras de Garbage Pickas

Álbum: Drop City S.I.M.P.S.O.N.

[Intro: Lounge Lo]
Peace, who this? Yo Pella, what up?
Hold on for a second... Peace, this Beezy, who this?
Hold on... yo Pella, check it
I got D.E. and the boys on the, on the other line
We in the garbage, knawImean?
Come down and holla at ya boy, though, let's go baby

[Lounge Lo]
Who you know that'll battle your boss and time up
Cut 'em down to size, take the dough and scat in his Porsche
It be a nigga from the Staten, of course, all the way live
From the back of the building, where, crack is a force
You know my guns man, they rapidly cough, and I ain't go no where
I'm Park Hill, plus, I'm Staten, New York
And where the coke bags are heavy, and it's thirty a pop
Hold on, I want it, let me dirty the block
Like the kid L.O.B. ain't got it, I got props
From the 'burbs in Ohio, to the birds in the projects, nigga
Now how you feel about it, and would you bail
If I come through, waving the steel and make you come up out it
Ya'll niggas crazy like yessa-yessa, bugging out
Yes lord, I have M.O.E. niggas slug you out
Keisha to D, Frank Bang', I'm with you
Tell Dutch come with the weed, and to bring the pistol

[INF-Black]
Yo, brisk on the scene, the eye beam, wise my money team
Keep my eyes keen, time to get spread, like butter cream
You can find me in the lobby, with Deuce, Nina and Tommy
Hands up, like a robbery, bake a piece of the policy
Don't bother me, I move sharply, get you properly
I flip like the Hulk, make hits like Paul McCartney
I'm an O.G. in a young G's body in a safari
Wild side to the scene, Staten Island gritty you feel me
With the force of twenty, I come off and spray twenty
So many rhymes, so many time, I don't rock skullies
Break ya brain waves down, like smoking weed with O.E.
Surviving these cold streets, every corner with beef
Had to scrabble the concrete, learn to bust my heat
Sell cheats and fancy jeeps is all I every dreamed
With my homeys, my whole team, touring over seas
Let a nigga front, I demonstrate, wait the I.V.

[Chorus: JoJo Pellegrino]
None M.C.'s is to amaze me out in these streets
My right hand'll flip the scam, turn around and pop you
Bet you wish you would of known your boy was police
Had you in shock when he drew the glock, with cops and locked you
Oh, what is going on? Can't I trust any of my peoples these days
Me? I'm in this bitch by my delf, nowadays I'm going out for myself

[Desert Eagle]
Yo, I carry the, weight of the Earth, I'm holding it down
Far from the edge, but I'm, close to the ground
I bury your clown on impulse, holster the pound
In this wickey city we live, bloods roaming about
We all rock like the Nazi's, pillage your town
Manifest prophecies, homey, look at me now
See a smile on my face, but it's really a frown
Nothing funny in my hood, what you laughing about?
You figure knees hard to buckle, when I cock my heat
TNT scope the night, with a chrome that'll meet
Street crime, eye hustle, then, order the suite
We throw shot at them blue and whites walking the beat
DT's cruise the block in a black Caprise
Looking for shooters, that shot them dudes last week
They dead, gain intelligence from blue and red
It falls to the RICO law, rush me out to the feds

[JoJo Pellegrino]
Gangstas and thugs, drugs, 3-80 snubs, ice grill mugs
Hiding his cubs, slugs, underworld plugs and social clubs
Mentally mess with the gloves, bust blueberry buds
SUV's with thugs, corrupt cops took your judge, constant killings
Surveillance cameras in the project buildings
Twenty heads, dutches and bottles on the park bench, chilling
The starving feeling, resort to juks and robbing, stealing
Cuz the bars I've written, spitting like the revolver spinning
The cars, the women, the poker face, the cards I'm dealing
Hostile takeover conducted by grain, give ya block a makeover
You faggots is lame, front stoupe killers
Banana clip gorillas, white on white fillers
Good life for this, you'll be the thirteen sippers
Cosa Nostra composer, Pella move 'em with clippers, yo
Chris and Djor jackets, golden slippers, most of us is holding pictures
'52 shit, I chip it off, I get my foes to pitch it

[Leathafase]
Live and direct, from your local hood
Where we empty backwoods and dutch goods on the curb
I struck with the fur, eyes blurred, words blurred
Murder birds, in barber, shoot a produce stooge
Chicken get it, where blizzards form, I'm scorching hot
Soldier for my flow, by my thoughts, you melt on the spot
Rock body covered with maggots, shotty smother with fragments
A gun batter that only gets traced by forensics
The lens interest, I zero in on a heroine
With mere man utility, can be a dear friend
The rear end of the burner, smacks you in the thinker
You're a slow learner, I got the hook, line & sinker
Crooks on the grind, off the meter, the nine millimeter
To your spine, a street sweeper
You decide or get fried by the heat seeker
It's homicide, which provided by the grym reaper, let's collide

[Chorus]

Añadido por Guest