S.N.O.R.T

Lyrics

[Intro: Boldy James] 'Chemist, Bo Jack G.I. back to that one-way Where we at with it? Uh 227, Blockworks Let's get it [Verse 1: Boldy James] I'm making short-term goals, make the work turn pro (Yeah) Thought it was a diamond in the rough, just a lump of coal Snipe a nigga soul, lil' Joseph, he'll up the pole (Pow, pow) Wipe a nigga nose, for his Rol' and them Buffalos (Slime) Swiping custos, selling blows, running through them Bose How you loving those? Never told on none of my bros I be on the road, ducking patrol, coming through the toll (Yeah) Tryna keep it low, but Lord knows I need to move this load Shootin' through the O, on 75, set the cruise control It's moving too slow? Give it to Taj, he gon' move it whole (Drug store) It ain't what you know, it's who you know, plug toot his nose Every time it touch, it put me right back in the Super Bowl (Back in the game) No, this ain't Kweli, that was Hi-Tech in my juice I poured On my mama stove with a Pyrex full of sushi roll I hit it with them ice chips and ramen noodle bowls (Uh) It harden up and turn into a block, looked like the soup was cold [Interlude: Freddie Gibbs] The Los Angeles Firing Squad now must come Yeah, us original Sincerely yours, Unfadeable Fred V12s, yeah Crime lord, it's the twank, yeah [Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs] Ayo, VVSs super froze, coupe ain't got no roof or doors (Nah, nah) My uncle and his partner test my dope, he got a stupid nose And lately, I been curving groupie hoes, but I get stupid chose (Bitch) 'Bout to drop a thousand in my 'Rex, I whip the Super Bowl Them foreign cars, I'm bored with 'em, 'bout to toss that to Lord and them Fuck a whip, I need a space coupe, me and Doc drop in that DeLorean (Pyoom) Michael J. Fox jumping out the pot, Michael J. hops Fuck rap, I can shave rocks, these slave-ass rappers can't drop Rolex say I'm on my eighth watch; wait, stop (Yeah), seven-figure nigga still hit the stove While my groupie bitches eatin' Domino's and my Houston hoes getting Pappadeaux My Dominicano 'bout to drop a load, I don't trust a soul, so a nigga drove (Rrr) Hit the county, I was in the hole with some Black Stones and some solid foes I'm checked in, vest in (Yeah), Big Bunny Rabbit don dada (Yeah) I remember when I seen a rapper do a spot for 1-800-CRIMESTOPPERS I remember being on the run, smokin' Swisher Sweets up in the Ramada (Yeah) Crime lord, on Vice Lord, I'm the underground king, Godfather, nigga, what? [Outro: Boldy James & Earl Sweatshirt] I wouldn't do it It's not my calling It's all a part of the same train of thought process That's what I'm saying And that train of thought helps you get talent It's brainwash, bruh, for real Yeah Why so far removed? From themselves, from they—, they environment Yeah From what's right the fuck around them But they're directly attached to it Like, violently Pssh, what? And emotionally Preach That's what I'm telling you Jail don't make you—, jail don't rehabilitate you At all It actually makes you more of a criminal You said it, bro, that shit is crime school That shit is a crime school