Last Leg

Lyrics

[Chorus: Snug Brim] Nigga we smashing through the fast lane Money's the [?], position till the cash came From Kansas City to the bay' we still make power moves And counting figures with niggas who bust they triggers Tryna [?] on avinues [Verse 1: Young Z] Ain't shit sweet' he ain't pour me On my street' the paper here, them haters go hand in hand They gon funk, we go man for man We take out the chief in command' then we leaving the land Return in sedans, poppin shit up You know them bullet holes known for locking lips up Bitch what This just me and my nuts You and your boys against me and my muts I get under a thug On your porch, I get under a rug You under the influence of slugs Me and you' my choice, my voice on tape again Wait till your waking and then we take your friends Them niggas ain't filthy, like us ugley niggas Suck and freak each other niggas When the snakes eyes slither Wait till the cakes are delivered Spend twice just to bake the nigga [Verse 2: Skatterman] Got the work, this bird feteral holding For the next 2 weeks, we gon see some feterals holding Nobody panic, this dirty, won't you sweep it up? Everything's green, Skatter, good work, keep it up My lawyer told my wifey that they coming to get me I won't hit the streets again until 2050 So my bags packed, that strap, outside the taxi way Fuck the drug charge, they try to prosicute for tax evasion Can't call my mom, cause I know she under high servailanse Court cases for all my nabors I'm paranoid, don't want nobody next to me Don't know who to trust, cause everybody's an accesserey Limpin on my last leg, working on my last egg Almost dead, cause I almost had to kill that last fed Put it on my life, the helicopter's getting closer Grab it out, pop you with the toaster [Chorus: Snug Brim] Nigga we smashing through the fast lane Money's the [?], position till the cash came From Kansas City to the bay, we still make power moves And counting figures with niggas who bust they triggers Tryna [?] on avinues [Verse 3: San Quinn] I walk around half dead, stomach ake, half fit Still standing tall like a soldier on his last leg I ain't never sold coke, never been blasted But to watch my family die, can't look past it I write a book called Tragic, distribute it through these dentists Already did it, I'm penny pintching Big to a midget, and small to a giant That's what I tell the critics and my cliants I'll buy it Squads, no wonder why we hot Tryna spot gang [?] I'll ride till I die, [?] [?] Street patrolling Grippin the gun, spin the mud Just wanting some Benjaman Buttons Itching to bubble [?] [Verse 4: Snug Brim] It's mind over matter, [?] It ain't right [?], your neck Playing these games, with niggas with no chains Pop up in your front yard, pistol at close range I go both ways, leave bullets all over your driver's seat We got weed, [?] This shit is deep I won't blieve [?] Be cairfull when you sleep, cause we creepin, hoe And whe we get high, we run up in your home Shoot the chroam Leave you taped up on your dome I sware to you, brother You can't get in my bubble [?] [Chorus: Snug Brim] Nigga we smashing through the fast lane Money's the [?], position till the cash came From Kansas City to the bay, we still make power moves And counting figures with niggas who bust they triggers Tryna [?] on avinues