Walked up three stories just to see shorty
Each story I walked up had its own story
Oh lordy, real shit, no glory
Weirdos, loners, stoners, yellin' families
Get to shorty door, step in its anatomy
And I study that shit from the hips to the tits
To little back dimples I peep while I hit
Even the feet is ripped, shit
If the feet look sweet, the feet needs licks
Once her lips hit dick, it leave me sick
I hold it, unfold it, bone it, skeet quick
That's as much about the body that I need to know
Turn to shorty
"Mami, I need to go"
"Papi you said you'd spend the evening though"
Is what she said to me, eventually I calm her down
Went down the stairs, open up the door, hit with a wall of sound
In the city all alone, thousand people all around
In the city all alone, thousand people all around
Take a turn, at this point my main concern
Where the buds everyday I burn so I can grub
I need at least a dub, but I only got ten so the weed's a dub
I been walking for a minute now I'm weak as fuck
I need to take a seat but only got this motherfucking street
I'm stuck
But then it hit me, I know who got tree for us
And yeah boy, I'm talking that real sour
Tired, thought of the fire gave me will power
Get off my ass and walk right down to Silver Towers
Man
Now it's just me and the kids
Big boy spliff
Pork buns coming out the fridge
And homies moms bottles getting swigged
So then I sip, sip, then I sip some mo'
To the moment I was drenched and I had to go
Playing corners left me on the floor
Get up, dust myself up to the corner store
I needed eats, now I'm sauced in the streets, had to stop
Lost in the sauce, walking east
But hardly I could walk
I finally found a cab that let me rock
I hopped in
Told him where to let me off
I told him where to let me off
Sticking my head up out that taxi cabby
He let me light in the back seat actually
Open the window all he ask me naturally
I looked through the glass, see some shabby
Other cabi tryna pass me, pass me
Another day for your ass, we max speed
Hair blowin' in the wind, that's a win
No matter what type of whip that we be in
Even if it ain't a Benz
We been around the east river with the spins
Just tryna get back up to our ends
Fact that I'm drunk what, tuck me into bed
You don't get me God, then you don't get the squad
Feel like it's out Akira cruising up the FDR
You know the thing with Patrick is that
The guy eats, sleeps, and shits fuckin' lyrics
You know what I'm sayin', that's all the fuckin' guy knows how to do
If he doesn't have rapping, he's dead
You know what I'm saying, he can't do nothing else
He can't wipe his fuckin' ass in so many fuckin' ways
He can't clean up his room
He can't do his laundry
All that motherfucker can do is
Throw rhymes
See words in his fuckin' sleep
And just like put things together
And try and
Telling stories of his generation
And I feel like since I met him
The kid
All he ever did was just fucking rap
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