Got That Line

Niggas want that old mob shit back

(Take it back to that old school Federal way, man. Understand.)

For all my mob music monsters

(In a major way. I'm still burning duct tape.)

Bitch!

Nigga, this rap shit slow?

I'll be back selling blow

Posted right there by the store

Selling narcotics for the low

Niggas think I fell off?

Niggas done lost they mind

Niggas think since I'm rapping now

I still got that line

Still got that line

Still got that line

Nigga still got that line

Who got that line?

Who got that line?

(I still got it, man.)

Nigga still got that line

Still got that line

Still got that line

(Who need it?)

Nigga still got that line

Nigga, this rap shit slow?

I'll be back selling blow

In the traffic, in the wind getting money

Never stunting clumsy gotta feed my family tummy

Ain't shit here funny

Pull your ho card, not a game motherfucker, this ain't gin rummy

It's funky out here - musty, keep your guns oiled up, not rusty

Not a starter pistol; pack something husky, bust the gusty

Sawed-off, something that'll get your point across

Knock a motherfucker head off; tomato soup, not chicken broth

Promethazine, no cough; six-fifty with a brick of boat cost

If coke cost too much so I'm charging

Twenty-four, five for the margarine

I might bargain, or show you love for the butter

Peel your broccoli, give you a better price than your little plug

You could lose your life, catch a fucking slug, plotting on a balling-ass thug

I stay with the pyro on me cause ain't nobody gonna protect me like me

I don't want no cowards around me, big bank, FDIC

Nigga think I fell off? Posted up front of that store

With a hard ass kick of that blow (that snow), OG having his cho (money)

Another word for cho is doe (fetti), trying to outsmart the po-po (Five-O)

Come looking for me and I gotta go (what you do?), I'm running through the store back door

Knocking over candy and chips, commenced to hit the fence

It's not my first offense, about my dollars and sense

I like to trap and trench, we like to trench and trap

Everybody with me don't rap

Operation gouda stack,, in this world of pain no patch

Pain reliever disbeliever, push Keisha, pack a 40-caliber gat

Got ho no more, toe-to-toe, don't nobody wanna fight no more

Throw it all away over a ho, never see the light no more

Ninety-nine plants I grow, got vegetables, outdoor seaweed, spinach

I'm not a save-a-ho, I'll break a ho, don't be surprised if I take your bi-nitch

Survival tactics, never hustling backwards

Throw-off methods, that's why I wear these glasses

So I can look like a nerd, po-po roll right past us

Savage-ass nigga from the gravel

Baller status, living hella lavish

You can find me at the shooting range, target practice

With a thumper in my fist going tactical

Shaka Zulu heart built for battle

Free all of my real ones missing summers

In the stew doing football numbers

Caught my brody with a K and some methamphetamine

Didn't take the plea bargain, so they gave him all day

All his family can do now is pray

Hoping they reduce his stay

Pass the hat around for the lawyer pay

Get him out before he hella old and gray

One day, I'm a probably be a deacon on the alter

Hopefully, I don't have to break bad like Walter

Get my hands dirty again and push birds

Either that or that windshield glass Heisenberg

Same toilet, different terd, I'll serve if I'm down on my revenue

Call the neighborhood chef, Raul