Street Religion

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Meyhem Lauren] Street religion's what I practice Cuban link chain, my hat backwards Accelerate weight, livin' the fastest Covered in graphics, my shirts look like art pieces My life story's like a sharp thesis My heart preaches what my mind knows, sense over emotion Never see pyramids built without devotion I seen fiends suckin' glass like a pleco The money that we use in the strip clubs is play dough Friends become foes, foes become alliances Gold bars get stashed inside appliances Stayin' free, bein' a G, I'm like a scientist Red and green belt on my waist, that's where the iron is Queens founded, international minded Dollar signs under my eyelid, I'm a hybrid Designed with superior strength and personality This Queens nigga's about to do it for the galaxy The calculator's good, my scale is calibrated I'm still a wolf, look at the work and then I salivated Know a couple Rambos that hop out Lambos I ain't really 'bout that, I'm good with my hand froze Livin' lowkey, fuck doin' OT Out the door and OT til I'm a OG, uh With greys in my goatee [?] motherfuckers calling me [?] [Verse 2: Roc Marciano] Check it Bloody murder, a young version of Ike Turner Watch your bird, I might burn her with the curler (Ahh) Severely hurt her, but the word I can nurture Long furs, his and hers in the house of worship (Uh) At the funeral, I heard it got turnt up Gangbangers from the rival turf shot the church up (Woo) Live by the gun, die by it Uh, what good is science to a man if he can't apply it? (Uh) By many I was praised, but I'm unfit Stared death in the eyes, never once flinched (Never) Cocked the hammer on the gun, left a thumbprint Come with me, young blood under covenant (Uh) Put the hit on him, if he live, pull a mulligan (Do it over) Chrome .357 with the rubber grip (Uh) Sippin' Baileys on the rocks like Puffy Pot lucky, pop, you cannot touch me Hunt for treasure, strugglin' to touch cheddar Fuck nigga prob'ly be a bum forever (Bum) Was once tight but in due time, sever Birds of a feather flock together - Roc (Namsayin' mane?) (Glide off, nigga. Let it flow That's a hell of a seafood spread brother made laid out for us, too) Stay fly til the day I die, that's the slogan Fly bitch bonin', 5-50 we the coldest Ice chokers, cut the pie, ghetto stockbrokers In '89, had a line for the smokers Still rock gold like a king, my nuts is hangin' low Nickel-plated .44 ain't for show Nigga, leave ya thoughts on the sidewalk For that fly talk, twist one and slide off