NWA

Baby keep me on my P's
Let's break down a hundred P's
Gucci gas go thirty-three
But gotta get thirty P
I don't even need a reason to
Hit you with the heat
These shoes don't come out this season
But still they on my feet

Old folk keep calling us heathens
Too many drugs on the street
I'm servin' right there by Four Seasons
Niggas from the pen won't weep

Peewee got the bricks and the bales
Listen up to the story I tell
The bricks, they came from the mail
My plug, his name is Miguel

I'm in the kitchen, counting up Benjis
Your bitch washing dishes and
Wrappin' up fishes
Used to run from the cops on the block
Hit for a hot box, took it to the chop shop
If I fuck with you
I'm making you straight drop
If I don't know you, I'ma give you rerock
Got a bando in Boston
The way I pitch them eight balls
Shoulda played for the Red Sox

Just took a loss, 'bout to take somethin' off
Put it to her head
Make her open up the vault
Say you got birds hid all in the loft
Soon as you turn the key, boy
You 'bout to get off

Bought a brand new AP but I'm always late
Every day my birthday
Now watch me bake a cake

I finesse the plug for the drugs
Even though a nigga always show love
If he ain't Migo, he ain't MPA
Brick Squad, nigga, you ain't my blood
Tryna hit my blunt, tryna sip my drank
What the fuck you think?
Ain't shit soft around my way
Unless you talkin' 'bout cocaine