Prop Joe

Lyrics

[Intro] Huh On god Yeah [Verse] Jump out the car and walk a nigga down I'll kill you for a half a pound Shoot your block spin back around Jump out the car then pat 'em down I really played the backfield Don't care about a rap deal Drug problems on my block, Papi trying to handle that still My plug playin' funny games, he bet' not play no money games This .45 like a arrow, shoot this bitch like it's The Hunger Games The drac' make 'em do the running man I used to fall asleep with hunger pangs Stopped selling dope didn't all that change I really put up for my gang The city treat me like a Villain Bitch bet' not play cause I'll kill 'em Fay seen me walk niggas down Pull it out while im walking through the crowd I let it off that bitch go fah, fah-fah-fah I can fuck up auntie blender, she say: "Papi, you that nigga" These niggas know my body different I'm on that shit I'm prolly trippin' Ain't nun but Carti's for the vision Nigga I'll rob you with your sister I really don't give a damn This a Glock, it won't jam They tryna do it for the gram, I'm gon' do it with the grams I'm Patrick Ewing with the slam They called me Rambo in the can I cut your face up with a can and pass the drain off to my man I'm too sticky with this shit, Ion try to be mixy with these niggas I sold dope and shot niggas, I'm a real block nigga I act just like my pops nigga, my wrist inside the pot nigga He got a Glock, my Glock bigger, I let off shots way quicker I don't fuck with you niggas, what you wanna do nigga Cause when the last opp tried, got shot five times Dumbass damn near died, stupid ass paralyzed We stand on business 'bout the guys These niggas fake they act like props Jump out the car and get my man, broad daylight we open fire They talking crazy on the live, don't even know he finna die They like: "Pap just make songs" I get you killed, my paper long I'm really tryna be a rapper, but I can't kick it with these rappers I fuck around and rob a rapper, then go sell the product after Im a no good dirty bastard In the streets I got my masters I don't got fake dope stories, I don't got fake drill stories I got them real deal stories, them "Pap, you gotta chill" stories Going out like I'm Marlo Run my block like I'm Marlo Get you shot like I'm Marlo Serve straight drop like I'm Marlo I robbed the spot like I'm Marlo These niggas act like Proposition Joe Soon as he act like he want [?] Reach for my hip, don't gotta find the pole [Outro: Excerpt from "The Wire"] Proposition Joe: My nephew Boy was always a disappointment But I treated you like a son Marlo Stanfield: I wasn't made to play the son Proposition Joe: But my supply - the good dope? Marlo Stanfield: The Greeks, they cool with it Proposition Joe: Proposition, then I just step out the way You never hear from me again I just disappear Marlo Stanfield: Joe, you'd be up into mischief in no time Truth is, you wouldn't be able to change up any more than me Close your eyes It won't hurt none There, now Joe, relax Breathe easy