| Uh, woo, it’s Benny
|
| Nothing gon' be able to stop this shit
|
| Ayo, Daringer, you smoked this shit
|
| Yuh, only real shit
|
| Griselda
|
| Yo, I’m from a cold city, Westsides and Conways, ain’t no Biggies
|
| Where niggas barely 20 and rich, they all done drove Bentleys
|
| Roll with me, come into my hood, where niggas know Benny
|
| Hit bougie bitches with rich fathers, like a Nicole Richie
|
| I touch base, it go quickly, but I ain’t no Griffey
|
| We rock stars like Bo Diddley, with hoes, I’m so picky
|
| The flow simply just like coke, it keep your nose drippy
|
| Unload bricks right off the yacht until the boat empty
|
| GxFR, they say we rose quickly
|
| They wasn’t with me on them nights I was broke, really, nah, they don’t feel me
|
| Think this overnight, then you won’t get me
|
| You ain’t see Conway when he barely could walk, hit from that cold blicky
|
| Or West on the run, coming home busy
|
| Before he did that stretch, we bumped heads in the Feds
|
| Back in '06, we all spent time on the cell block, made the jail hot
|
| Now the checks coming straight through the mail slot
|
| And I can feel it in my soul, I was sitting in the hole
|
| For that shit I whipped and sold, miss my third Christmas in a row
|
| Real shit, uh
|
| We’re from the city of good neighbors
|
| Where you can lose your life for doing your neighbor a favor
|
| If you didn’t know, if you didn’t know
|
| My heart belongs to Buffalo, my heart belongs to Buffalo
|
| Street names so poetic, street corners dangerously stoic
|
| Scuffed Nikes can lead to closed caskets
|
| Dilapidation and dope fiends, yellow piss stains in snow
|
| But every spring, roses still manage to grow
|
| Hear the aesthetics to my soul
|
| This that motherfucking Tana Talk 3 |