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blow - grafh lyrics

[verse 1: benny the butcher]
ay it’s a real n*gga marathon
uh huh
i was in the beam trying to get them trees sent to juma
now i’m in the breeze trying to get the things sent from cuba
i probably left the ruger spin your block, hit your crew up
n*ggas gonna snitch to jewelers, rats gon’ handpick the shooters
(aw man)
i had you going to another way (what up n*gga?)
or your homies wiping tears off your mother’s face
i need a block worth $100k
or a spot where the money straight so i could do one a day
yeah
i treat this rap sh*t like the perfect l!ck (perfect l!ck)
my griselda deal worth a brick (worth a brick)
pistol on ’em cause he can’t work the stack
the streets made us merciless
there’s no turning back once you insert the clip (no turning back)
it’s rich or broke, freedom or jail
my man sh*t, sleep in a cell (uh huh)
we let off biscuits and ballistics, come clean up the sh*lls
we made choices and had to pay lawyers to even the scales
true story, you know the pot was glass, lots of cash
took twenty bands to the jeweler and my watch was half
i make the moves and she count the cash
you heard?
it’s only right, i got the shoes and she got the bag
they want a feature or they came to buy dope off us
this where they come and get their stamp, we like the post office
it ain’t no gas in the trap, and it ain’t no corporate
so we use the microwave to cook and run the cold water
(f*ck you know about that?)
i only kick it how the hustlers talk (how the hustlers talk)
and got receipts for sh*t a hustler bought (uh huh)
me?
i really had a brick inside a muscle car
we both got money, only difference is there’s blood on ours
[chorus: grafh]
all my n*ggas know it’s street sh*t (street sh*t)
i’ll have my hood blow down the precinct (precinct)
and these guns ain’t for show (ain’t for show)
hitters everywhere i go (everywhere i go)
i’ll blow you down, i’ll blow you down
i’ll blow you down, i’ll blow you down
mmm
my name grafh hoe
mmm
my name grafh hoe
mmm

[verse 2: grafh]
are you stupid, my pistol’s enormous
my sh*lls could fit on a tortoise
you brought a nickel to the forbes list
i’m picking up the harvest, soft weed i lift up a forest
i’m talking in codes, my keys come with a thesaurus
the [?] explodes [?] would fit in a cartridge
your broad’s getting low on her knees ’til she l!cking the carpet
(freak)
my slippers is [?] in ostrich n*gga
my chinchilla’s gorilla and shark skin n*gga
hennessy straight i drink dark skin liquor
i put bunk beds in the grave and make coffins bigger
my offense shake the dice and let a dollar fall
chip a brick of white into a cotton ball
dirty sprite and some tylenol
i t*bag your b*tch like i’m spiking a volleyball (ow)
you trust your life with your body guards
my infrared lights full of body parts
when i snipe then karate starts
step back, gold chains over the chest tats
i step out of the booth smelling like exlax
death math, don’t get this coke residue on your dress slacks
it’s hard to breathe with your chest cracked, neck snapped
fake gold chains making your neck scratch
this is new york, new york
like a yankee vs. nets match
your doctor trying to make different parts of your flesh match
i just trapped, f tax, the techs blast
anybody could get it, the techs blast
[outro]
all my n*ggas know it’s street sh*t
my n*gga benny burning down the precinct

- grafh lyrics

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