Untitled Song

My thoughts are worth big mills

..dudes be paying 10 bills to get ill..

.i live on thrills with my mode on chill.

.their persona is iffy..i keep my clothes crispy.

..2 sips of old gold get me all pissy..

.so i stay with greens of high quality...

from the era of rayon and wallabies...

on a plane where high knowledge be .

.hot with grammar, my goons pop hammers..

speakin french to some hoes in Montana

..east diplomats rep like juelz santana

..this is my block ..my old sneaks hang on the wires..

hustlers duck the cops the city boot up tires.

.and the street bring the beef like oscar mayer

I stay charged like Eveready

dice weak bars like Jason with a machete

and fuck up retards like lil wayne and Fetty

Friend or foe, ya can't miss my shine bro

never diss my goons like Diddy did shyne po

Like these fake Gs go, bitchin up like cryin hoes

Any way on with the show, Premo scratch it

and loop the trumpet, my eyes are chinky from the blunt kid

Im folded, the world looks dusted

My thoughts make me regurgitate some rough shit

New York style, i was youth gone wild

Mug shots on file, homicides for killin mcs for miles

Im somewhere in the tri-state, my words make

bitchs twitch and gyrate, niggas screw face then migrate

They hate when i do this here

Something old is new this year

got these newbies running back to school in fear

The flow comes naturally, i spit the math factually

I aint with these wack niggas thats growin up after me

No manners, no substance to the grammar

All these youngins talk about is dumpin their hammer

Im cool like the fonz, studied under

Leaders of the new school, guru and nas

I pave roads of gold like the wizard of oz