Mafia Music III

Album: Mastermind (2014)
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  • My corner so polluted, young niggas looting
    I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student
    Remarkable hustle, my niggas coming home
    I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed
    Niggas caught him slipping, gave him a shit bag
    Five shots to the stomach, 2Pac gift pack
    It's death row, conspiracy theories
    Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury
    Get some money now, you hated by your own kind
    The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline
    GABOS, game ain't based on sympathy
    So he put a hit on his cousin at 18
    A sweet potato pie, oh me, oh my
    Showing no remorse watching the others cry
    Heroin sales, detectives'll sell
    A lot of yellow tape, where that Obama care?
    This the mob, bitch, silk underwear
    Yeezy concerts, Kim Instagrams
    Niggas hating, though they studied my moves
    I'm like Farrakhan, in view of hundreds of Jews
    Two attempts on my life, they threatened venues
    Can't you see what I am? The hustle continue
    I bought more jewels, I ordered the Wraith
    I got a new style of shoes, match the watch in the face
    Bill Belichick, coaching and calling the shots
    Throw a yellow flag, pussy nigga body drops
    Then we celebrate, black bottles pop
    Time to elevate, we re-open shop
    Wale a genius, Meek Mill a superstar
    My new crib in Phoenix, ten car garage
    Petite felite, platinum Audemars
    Ain't no tags needed, nigga, I own them cars
    I know them bitches, we met them broads
    Never loved one, fucked them all
    I'm a fucking dog, Ricky fucking Ross
    Nigga Birkin bags just for my runner-ups
    But my main bitch she get the main dish
    Not the old range, that was a lame bitch
    Brazilian weave, she say I came quick
    I let her see a hundred ki's, a different St. Nick
    Moving bricks like it's Black Friday
    She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby
    Looking over my shoulder, I can't trust a soul
    Bought a spot in Anguilla just for me and my ho
    Glock .40, even when I shower
    Chrome .22 in my swimming towel
    Mob ties and I pray the music set me free
    May the powers that be, nigga let me be

    We around when the sun goes down
    And the real, real killers they mourn for ya
    It's gonna be a bloodshed
    One month, one day it's gonna be a bloodshed
    Bop, gunshot in the head
    Payback is a motherfucker
    Yes, I feel it when I squeeze the trigger
    I feel the air when my enemies die
    I feel the strength of ten killas
    What is to be, will be
    Only God on earth can kill me
    'Cause these fucking streets filthy
    And I ain't fucking guilty

    Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy
    Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly
    Boy die
    Guns go off ah suh me say
    Murderings in anyway
    Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy
    Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly
    Boy die
    Guns go off ah suh we say
    Murderings in anyway

    You better not be around, when the sun goes down
    And the real real killas, them hunt for you
    Ay, it's gonna be a bloodshed
    One bust, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
    Gun shot in a head

    Sizzla Kalonji have de girls dem screaming
    Entire country every sweet gyal
    Ya already know the meaning but its streaming
    Go and clean, ya cant diss me ya must be dreaming

    Jamaicans make dem know we can't defeat dem (Mo' fire) Writer/s: Bobby Dixon, David Constantine Brooks, Kirk Andre Bennett, Miguel Orlando Collins, Roosevelt III Harrell, William Leonard Roberts
    Publisher: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., NW ROYALTY CONSULTING, LLC., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind


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