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freestyle 4 - sheek louch lyrics

[intro: styles p]
yeah poobs
[?]
kay

[verse 1: styles p]
i never cared what i sold, you know what i sold but it’s different now, i’m tryna blow ’cause i’m gettin’ old (i’m tryna blow now)
i need major sales, tried of the major sk!lls
montega sales, feel ’em on my way to jail
i need bigger money (need bigger money)
i need l.a. or jigga money so i could get a house on the river money (house on the river)
i need lyor or jimmy (yuh)
tell the truth i go extra hard never got none of diddy money (i ain’t never get none of that)
i got grindin’ hard in new york city money (grindin’)
been through a lot of sh*t
so i call it sh*tty money, you a fan? then i want you to cop (cop)
‘causе the label don’t want me to drop (uh uh)
rathеr see a n*gga pump on the block (sh*t)
nah i ain’t 50 and them, they sell more but i spit a lot sicker then them (i’m sicker)
i guess i need me a dre or need me a em (i need to know) to make me a monster hit and get me some spins
but sh*t i’ma grind like i know how (i know how)
came from the streets and did it for nuttin’ but n*ggas said “flow styles, come down like the rain
shine like the sun, (shine) blast like a gun anytime it’s time to bring pain” (yea)
i can’t be touched like porcupine
ain’t no crossin’ mine
‘less you dead ready for coffin time (you dead ready)
and i could say that i’m the nicest right now, take out the top five, i could make a crisis right now (yuh)
sh*t, you oughta call me to ghost write
dog you just you and you ain’t ready to ghost fight (you ain’t ready)
i’ll raid these n*ggas (raid ’em)
ain’t a f*ckin’ king, i ace of spade these n*ggas (spade ’em)
blade these n*ggas (yuh)
twelve gauge mossberg, big ass tech and a hand f*ckin’ gun when i spray these n*ggas, blaow!
[verse 2: sheek louch]
yeahhhhh, spray these n*ggas (yeah)
i bring the big guns out all day ‘fore i pay these n*ggas (f*ck outta here)
sheek keep one in the head (no doubt)
coupe in the lot, a ounce of weed, a b*tch in the bed (ahh)
and the hawk still might not close (uh uh)
from dried up blood, (hold that) take a picture but i might not pose
i don’t see nuttin’ funny my dude (uh uh)
sorry if i’m rude but i’m thinkin’ ’bout eatin’ ya food (let’s go)
i’m half bake, half can crystal lake
ready to go jason on jake (ha ha)
i got anger like j.j. father (d*mn)
wit the barney milo revolver, (woo) nuts like washington carver (uh)
you wan’ f*ck around wit me (yeah)
ice grill ’till i pull a nine out the d*ckie (yeah)
like two b*tches do a lil l!cky, l!cky
hit you in the chest stop it from ticky, ticky (ha ha ha)
sheek louch n*gga after tax (after taxes)
even when that drop i can’t relax (nah)
then come the comp (and what?)
then come hood (and what?)
then the lox album
homie we good

[outro: sheek louch]
ha ha
we good poobs
s.p
the ghost n*gga, time is money
after taxes, b*tch
ha ha
whadd up jada
j hood whadddd up
all my jails, all my group homes
all my n*ggas on the block grindin’ right now, man, y’all already know what it is, man, one

- sheek louch lyrics

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