Mafia Music III

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 and aunties

Her sweet potato pies, 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

Patek Philippe, 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

Get 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 100 ki's, a gift from 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 hoe

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, may they let me be

Ya better not be around when the sun goes down

And the real, real killers them out for ya

It's gonna be a bloodshed

One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed

Gun-gunshot inna head

Payback is a motherfucker

Yes, I feel it when I squeeze the trigger

I feel the urge when my enemies die

I feel the strength of ten killer

What is to be will be

Only God alone can kill me

'Cause these fuckin' streets filthy

And I ain't fucking guilty

Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?

Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die

Guns go off, or so mi say

Murderation, anywhere

Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?

Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die

Guns go off, or so we say

Murderation, anywhere

Ya better not be around when the sun goes down

And the real, real killers them out for ya

It's gonna be a bloodshed

One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed

Gun-gunshot inna head

Sizzla Kolanji and Rick Ross have the girls dem screaming

The entire country, every street lab, you already know the meaning

Man ah streaming, goin' clean, you can't diss me, you must be dreaming

Jamaicans, mek dem know we carry the team in

(More fire)