Lyrics:
hawkin
Out on the strip, until I reach the margin
Not tryin to meet the Seargeant, at the precinct
Eatin cheese sandwiches, down for the weekend
Locked
It's 2017, homie I'm back, so let's go
(nigga)
You tryna fuck me, I'mma let the tech blow
(nigga) chop you up, and light the petrol
And now I'm 46,
hawkin' my style, talkin' loud
Non-believers wonder how I'm talk of the town
Hate Me Now, like Puffy and Nas, I uprise
Never thought big guns would
have to funk wit' me
But you did, now I'm going all out, kid
And I got mad love to give
You're all
I need
To get by
(W-w-wild, I'm about to blow
I'm starin' down a motherfucker stickin' his nose up in my business
Apparently a brotha gotta be sat over there as a witness
I don't care, I'm
can't make a band with me
Bitch I could blow this bitch and hit you and your fuckin' mans with ease
B-B-Bae my body got that water on it like a manatee
I
uptown (Up up up up so high)
So tell me though are you down (Down down down down down down)
You cheeba-hawkin muffuckas better re-up
Hit that dispensary
glocc 45 bullets get to fuckin hawkin
Fuck niggas get to duckin
While their bitch's get suckin
I Ain't Neva been caught lackin
By time I was 13
Had
I'm the truth, tell it, loud weed yellin'
Get it by the pound, we just smoke it, we don't sell it
What I blow'll make a plane go
Them bitches say
though we ain't got hats or badges
We're a union just by sayin' so
And the world will know
What's it gonna take to stop the wagons?
Are we ready?
summa
Going head up with me
Bring a motherfucking helmet
You niggas just special ed
All I see is green but my eyes so red
And all I do is win
Got a room
Music nigga Nigga, Bout to blow
Click clack boom, Kick it down We running, Thru the door
Know the vibes, You could smell Our presence, Every single show
Created by white men or any other white man
That pretended he originated
And contended that he innovated a jazz thing
Of course we know who can really blow
on a Coleman song
My friend John with a mirror and spoon
Got a belt and a mainline scene
A couple getting off in the back room
Someone's collecting money
by Hotline9)
Weed got me higher than a Martian
Fuck 12, they ain’t never gonna catch me
They ain’t start yet
SeeTwelveRun gonna kill it, I can’t stop
resume
With the route to Brut by Faberge
No doubt, to shout about a 20 bar segment
Offspring of lyrics when
The microphone's pregnant
Give it a rubdown,
cashed my hawkin money water so I took it to Scottie's
To keep myself from flashin'
Bought $250 worth of liquor and they tried to charge me
For some ice
his ride
Rag top tray on Daytons
Lifted side to side
We hit the party deep
Niggas was hawkin' me
You could feel the vibe
Of thick artillery
Parliament
ballin' bitch leave me alone
How that boy say he gon' pull up with sticks
And he ain't nowhere to be found
No burger the big mac hawkin him down
All my
row got me feelin like I'm rocky
This upside-down I must be out in Hawkins
Lil shit, punk bitch, they always use taunt me
Red fist, bruised ribs, yeah
Chayce Does
Or Chayce Coleman (Uh-huh)
Still whatever you want to call me (Still)
Hahahaha (Koikeya On the beat on the beat on the beat)
Aye, You
twenty below
Ask me why, man, I just don't
Know, know-know-know, know-know-know
I'm as cold as the cold wind blows
Blow-blow-blows, blow-blow-blows
fucks children
With his brother Tito and Liza
Minelli in a building a-B-C easy like 1-2-3
Plastic surgery, what has it done to me?
Like dead-alive, your
know the bank finna close (numbers)
A kick in the freezer, a forty in the stove
I cried in the trap when I lost Quinn Coleman
You don't wanna see me
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